Falling from Grace
by Rob1
Summary: This is a dark novel, heavy on the angst and violence. Book I begins with our 'hero' discovering that an old enemy still lives. He's about to discover something worse.
1. Book I: A State of Grace

  
  
Well, I'm going to try posting this here in an effort to get some final feedback before the story goes up on its own website. I'll include the link to the site once it's up- it's graphic intensive and fairly interesting in its own right. This is a final revision of a story that has been posted elsewhere before- it's designed to be accessible to those who don't watch the show and who aren't familiar with the characters. If you like good clean wholesome violence, this is the place for you. All criticism and input will be appreciated- I want to eliminate any last flaws before I chisel this thing into stone. Thanks in advance- Robin.   
  
WARNING- This is not a romance. It is a dark and twisted tale, and there are no white knights to be found. This a story of angst- physical, psychological and emotional. I do things with these characters that you may not like- if there was a theme song, it would be done by Nine Inch Nails!!! The world you are about to enter (or not) is filled with violent, dangerous people who you would not invite over for Mrs. Horton's donuts. If this is not to your taste- don't read it.   
  
  
Background   
  
In 1983, Roman Brady married Dr. Marlena Evans, a prominent local psychiatrist. The two met when Roman, a police officer, was assigned to guard her from a serial killer known as 'The Salem Strangler'. In October of 1984, the couple had twins, Sami and Eric. Together with Roman's daughter from a previous marriage, Carrie, the family had but a few happy months together before Roman was believed killed in a fight with his nemesis Stefano Dimera. His body was found at the bottom of a cliff by his brother Bo Brady, but disappeared with the tide before it could be recovered. In 1985, a mysterious bandaged stranger showed up in town suffering from amnesia. The good Dr. Evans tried to help the man regain his identity, and during this search, he took the name John Black. Though he had flashes of images from Marlena's past with Roman, there was also evidence that he could be Stefano Dimera himself. In fact, he carried the mark of the phoenix (Stefano's symbol) tattooed onto his shoulder. Despite the confusion, the two found themselves falling in love. Fortunately, evidence surfaced that John Black was indeed Roman Brady, brainwashed and subjected to plastic surgery by Stefano Dimera. Though he never regained all of his memories of his past, Roman and Marlena remarried in August of 1986. Unfortunately, long-term happiness was again denied the family, as Marlena was presumed killed in a plane crash in 1987 (the result of the actions of an old ISA adversary of Roman's called Orpheus- Roman was an agent for the secret government agency before his marriage to Marlena). Marlena's death nearly destroyed Roman, who survived only due to his love for his children. He finally started to rebuild his life, and in 1991 had planned to marry Isabella Tuscano. However, this was interrupted by the return of Marlena, who finally escaped from a mysterious island where she had been held by Dimera- though she had been in a coma for most of the 4 years. Roman and Marlena again renewed their vows, and finally had the happy family life they deserved. This brings us to my story, which begins in 1999- 8 years after Marlena had returned to Roman Brady.   
  
  
Book I: State of Grace   
  
Chapter 1   
  
_He walks through a world gone gray, searching for something he knows he will not find. The sounds of muffled footsteps are his only companions, a mocking reminder that he has made this journey many times before. Always the search is futile. Always he returns.   
_   
_Peace. He comes to this lonely place seeking peace. Peace, escape, oblivion- it is all one and the same to him now. It has been this way for a very long time. Yet here he is again, looking out over the mist shrouded water. Trying hard to forget. Trying hard to move on.   
__   
__Isabella is everything a man could ask for. Hope for. Dream for. She is a beautiful woman. A kind woman. A loving woman.   
_   
_Isabella is the wrong woman and she will never be enough. It is a truth he accepts but refuses to admit.   
_   
_He watches the fog drift across dark water, silver shadows at play beneath a full moon. The pier whispers to him in the soft murmur of the tide, the creak of weathered wood. The visions are a blur. The words are indistinct. But if he looks very closely, sometimes he can see her. If he listens very hard, sometimes the voice is hers. He will find her on the pier. One way or another, he will find her here some day.   
_   
_He comes here to forget, but forget he never does. Never could. Never would. He would rather die than lose this last piece of her. He would rather burn than be left with nothing but memories and the quicksilver taunts of the pier. And so burn he does.   
_   
_His hands clench into fists. As always, he is aware of the empty place where his wedding ring should be. Used to be. Isn't. The pain is still as raw as the day he lost her. The wound is still as fresh. He looks out over the water and pretends he wants to forget even as he picks at the scabs that cover his heart. Why the hell does she call him down here and then leave him all alone? Why did she leave him at all?   
_   
_He turns from the beckoning water, knowing he cannot answer its call. Not now. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when the children are older. Not tonight. He plasters a smile on his face and buries his husk of a heart deep inside. An eternity of waiting has earned him enough scar tissue to hide the wound from all but the most prying of eyes. No one sees. No one knows. Not his parents. Not his children. Not Isabella, the woman who will be his wife. Only the pier suspects his secrets, but pier won't tell. The pier will wait, biding its time. He will come back here. He will always come back here. Some dark night, he will decide not to leave. The pier will wait.   
_   
_The wood groans in protest as he walks to the ladder, loath to let him leave. The mist swirls around him in one last attempt to make him see. Make him stay. His forced smile tugs at stiff lips as he tries to pretend to forget. The fog fights back, the image of Her coalescing. Gaining form. Gaining substance. Approaching reality.   
_   
_And She is here. She is here, and it no longer matters if she is real. Spirit or flesh, he will not let her leave him again.   
_   
_"Marlena?" Her name hangs heavy on the night air. A plea. A prayer. He begs. He doesn't care.   
_   
_Skin on skin, the spell is broken. She is back, 'how' does not matter. White-gold hair brushes his face as silken lips steal the breath from his lungs. He looks down into hazel eyes and he is home. Finally, he is home.   
_   
_The eyes widen, a sharp gasp escapes the perfect lips. The colors of his world wash away, the glow of sunlight on green seas fading to black as the haze creeps across those eyes. She stiffens in his embrace, her body growing cold even as he clutches her to his chest. He can feel the beat of her heart. He can feel it falter. He can feel it stop. Soundlessly, he pulls his knife from her back, the warm blood dripping down his fingers, making his skin tingle. Almost regretfully, almost reverently, he slips her body into the dark waters. The golden angel sinks slowly from sight, leaving him alone once again.   
_   
_He looks out over mist shrouded water. He tries hard to forget....   
_   
"No! Shit!"   
  
"Roman?!"   
  
With a 'click', the soft light of the bedside lamp chased away the darkness and she turned to find him sitting upright in the middle of their bed. He gasped for air as sweat ran down his bare chest and for a moment she was almost afraid, though she didn't know why.   
  
"Roman? Honey? Are you okay?"   
  
Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. He gave a sharp shake of his dark head and tried to banish the sense of dread that tied his stomach into knots. "Sorry, Doc. A nightmare. Sorry...."   
  
"Well it must have been a doozy. You look like you've seen a ghost! Please tell me you weren't chasing bad guys in your sleep? You do enough of that in your day job," she teased, planting a kiss on his shoulder and hugging him tight. Gradually, she felt his breathing even and the tension ease from his body.   
  
He allowed her to pull him back down to the cool pillows and tried to remember the visions that had disturbed his sleep. The shadowed images darted away from him, staying just out of reach. With a soft sigh, he let them go. "Hey, a guy's got to make a living! But... I'm sorry if I woke you up," he finally said, the sense of unease slowly fading, banished by her touch.   
  
"Mmm, well, we have to be up in a couple of hours anyway," she replied, her finger twirling idly around a curl of dark chest hair. "Tell me what you were dreaming about and I just might forgive you."   
  
"Ah, I'm going to have to earn your forgiveness?" He quirked an eyebrow and with one sudden movement rolled over so that he straddled her slender hips.   
  
"Oh yes," she whispered with a grin, wiggling beneath him just the slightest bit. "You have disturbed my beauty sleep, I believe that it is the least you can do."   
  
"What if I can't remember the dream?" he said, bending over to plant light kisses down the side of her throat.   
  
She bit back a gasp and reached up to trail her fingernails along the line of his rib cage. "Try harder."   
  
"Oh, you want harder?"   
  
"Harder is good," she whispered through smiling lips.   
  
His fingers tugged at the soft material of her nightgown and he tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling as he contemplated her question. "Let's see. Nightmare. We were talking about a nightmare. What could I dream about that might be bad?"   
  
She bit back a laugh as her gown slipped above her hips, refusing to give him any help. Her own hands were busy playing with the waistband of his boxers, and she was amused to see him gulp for air in an effort to continue his explanation.   
  
"Nightmare? Bad stuff? I got it! I must have been dreaming about your cooking! That's it!" he said, looking down on her with a triumphant grin as he finally managed to yank her gown over her head.   
  
Her eyes widened in a close approximation of anger. "Rat! You rat!" Grabbing the pillow beside her, she whopped him dead in the face.   
  
He let the force of the blow carry him backwards, collapsing face-up at the foot of the bed. Lunging upright, she leaped on top of him and pinned his hands above his head. Completely naked, she loomed over him, the most incredible thing he had ever seen. "I love you, Marlena," he whispered, the need to say the words suddenly overwhelming.   
  
A faint blush tinted her cheeks and her smile softened. "I love you too."   
  
"Always?"   
  
"Always."   
  
Holding his gaze, she lowered herself slowly down on top of him. Fingers skimmed across sweating flesh. Breathing quickened. Lips met. And nightmares were forgotten.   
  


****************************************   


"So, do you have any plans for the summer?" Roman asked his oldest daughter, as he deftly flipped a blueberry pancake.   
  
"Not really, Dad. I figured I'd catch-up with some friends. Maybe check on getting a summer job at the mall. Right now it's just good to be home. My first year at the university was great- but it's really nice to be home for the summer. I hadn't realized how much I would miss my family," Carrie replied.   
  
"Even your pesky little brother and sister?" Roman joked, as Eric came storming down the stairs.   
  
"Dad, Sami's hogging the bathroom again!"   
  
"Yea Dad, even them," Carrie said with a smile.   
  
"Sami- get out of the bathroom," Roman yelled up the stairs. "I've got to leave for work, and if you want me to drop you at Jamie's, you'd better get a move on!"   
  
Sami ran down the stairs, followed closely by her mother. Roman was struck by the likeness between the two and with a proprietary gaze looked over his tow-headed brood gathered around the kitchen table. Watching as they attacked the stack of pancakes in the center of the table, he briefly debated the need for moonlighting to keep his crew in food. Grinning to himself, he strapped on his shoulder-holster, calling "O.K., who needs a ride?"   
  
Chapter 2   
  
Roman leaned back in his chair, cracked his fingers, and eyed the pile of paperwork distastefully. He missed being a real cop rather than a paper pushing bureaucrat. With a grimace he signed yet another requisition form, not even bothering to read this one. Tilting his head back, he stared at the ceiling and searched for an excuse to hit the streets. His musings were interrupted by a perfunctory knock and Abe Carver strode in. Without waiting for an invitation, Roman's right-hand man took his favored position in the chair set before the cluttered desk.   
  
At first glance, the two men were a study in contrasts. Abe was built like the linebacker he had been in college and he still moved with the easy grace of an athlete. His short cropped hair was already streaked with grey, lending him an air of maturity. Combined with the well-cut suit he wore like he'd been born in and his deceptively mild voice, he could easily play the part of a corporate executive. A really big corporate executive.   
  
Abraham Carver was solid, dependable, the calm before the storm. Roman was the storm itself. The man was in motion even when he was sitting still. He never seemed to relax, only to coil and wait- and waiting was something he had never been very good at. The tie around his neck was there only because his job forced him to wear it and a discerning eye could see his concern that the slight piece of silk was at any moment going to leap up and strangle him. His rangy build was deceptive and in a dress jacket the broad width of his shoulders was concealed, making him appear almost slim. From a distance, Abe was by far the more imposing form. Up close- well, up close to either of the men could be a dangerous place to be.   
  
Their personnel files gave a hint of what had made these two seemingly disparate men the most effective team in the history of the Salem P.D. Both files were filled with commendations and the number of major cases they had solved was too large to bother counting. Even more impressive were the accolades from outside agencies. In Roman's case, some of those agencies were so covert that not even their real names were included in the files. The files explained why Abe was the first black man to rise to the position of Captain in the city of Salem and why Roman was the police Commander though he had yet to see his 40th birthday. Of course, files were just files- pieces of paper that created a reality for outsiders to see. Paper can never really capture the nature of a man.   
  
"Let's go shoot somebody," Roman said, in a tone that might have been joking.   
  
"Hm- I'm not certain, but I think that's against the law," Abe replied, leaning back in his chair and flashing a broad grin.   
  
"Not if it's somebody bad."   
  
"I think you better brush up on the criminal codes in this state, Roman."   
  
"You never let me have any fun," Roman groused, flinging his pen down atop the mounds of unread paper.   
  
"What you mean is, I never let you get into any trouble."   
  
"Same difference. What'd you come in here for, anyway? Volunteering to help me work on the budget for next year?"   
  
Still smiling, Abe shook his head. "No thanks, partner. I've got my own pile of work to wade through. Just came by because I thought you might be interested in seeing the results of the latest lieutenant's test."   
  
That got Roman's attention. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the top of the desk. "Well? Don't keep me in suspense here. How'd he do?"   
  
"Had you any doubt? He was top of the class. Looks like your little brother is in for a promotion."   
  
"Yes! I knew he could do it. Bo's turning out to be one hell of a cop. I always said he had it in him."   
  
"No you didn't," Abe replied, his smile turning wry.   
  
"Well he was pretty wild in his youth, Abe. Somebody had to ride the kid," Roman answered defensively.   
  
"And you rode him pretty hard."   
  
Roman shrugged. "Maybe I was a little rough on him, but we've worked it out. Gotta say, I'm really proud of the man he's become."   
  
"I'd chalk that up to Hope's influence. It's amazing what the love of a good woman can do. I mean, it's really the only reason I can find for your success," Abe teased.   
  
"Hey, my rise to the top was inevitable, partner."   
  
"Well, shit does float...."   
  
The banter was cut short by a sudden intrusion as the subject of their discussion burst into the room.   
  
"Hey, doesn't anybody around here knock anymore?" Roman chided his brother. At the look on Bo's face, he quickly sobered. The younger man was pale, with a glint in his eye that Roman rarely saw. "What's up, bro?"   
  
With a quick nod in Carver's direction, Bo didn't waste time on pleasantries. "That smuggling case I've been working on- I finally got a solid lead. It looks like the base of operations is somewhere down near New Orleans."   
  
"Well, that's great Bo, but it's not exactly a national emergency. What's got you so excited?"   
  
"An informant told me that the head of the ring is a man that goes by the name "The Phoenix". It looks like we finally got a lead on Dimera."   
  
"Dimera."   
  
Roman's voice was flat, cold and dead, betraying no hint of emotion. Abe watched in sudden concern, noting how his friend's hand eased beneath his jacket to lightly caress the butt of his gun. He doubted Roman was even aware of the action.   
  
"Stefano Dimera's dead, Bo," Abe cut in, trying to diffuse the tension that suddenly filled the room. Even as he said the words, he knew that they were a lie.   
  
Roman ignored him completely, staring sightlessly into the air. Bo, true to his nature, spun on his heel. "That's a load of bull and you know it. They never found a body and that man is too damned slick to die so easily."   
  
"Bo, we've never found a body but we've also never found a single trace of the man. Do you really think that all these years would have passed without at least some sign that he was alive?" Though the words were directed at Bo, Abe's eyes remained locked on Roman's still figure. As he watched, the man began to shut down, to shut him out, to leave nothing but a cold fire flickering behind blue eyes gone ice hard. Not for the first time, Abe Carver wished that Bo would learn to think before he spoke.   
  
"No trace? Abe, who the hell do you think took Roman from that island? Who else would have tried to wipe his mind? Taken him from his home? From Marlena? Hell, who else would have held Marlena for all of those years..."   
  
"Are you certain?" Roman snapped, immediately silencing the debate.   
  
"Huh?" Bo looked startled and had to force his attention back to the seemingly calm form of his older brother.   
  
"Are you certain it's Dimera?"   
  
Suddenly uncomfortable, but not certain why, Bo began to fidget. "Well, you know nothing is certain where that man is concerned. But it's a good tip. I'm doing a face-to-face with my snitch tonight- I should know more then. But if I had to bet, I'd say the information's solid."   
  
"I'm going with you. I want to hear this for myself," Roman said, nodding distractedly as if some decision had been made.   
  
"No can do, brother." Bo shook his head. "This guy is real shaky about meeting with me and I've been working on this contact for over a year. Anybody else shows up, and he's sure to rabbit. Let me handle it. I'll give you a report as soon as I'm done."   
  
Roman simply stared at Bo, unwilling to debate the issue. Abe took the opportunity to try and stop a fight before it could start. "Let him go, Roman," he urged. "After all, if you can't trust your brother on something like this, you ought to be able to trust our newest Lieutenant."   
  
As Abe's comment set in, a grin washed across Bo's face. "Why didn't you tell me? You're not joking?" Bo asked, half-worried that the older men were putting him on.   
  
Roman seemed to relax slightly, sitting back in his seat and forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. In a voice that was almost natural, he conceded. "Well, Abe, guess you're right. If I can't trust this to one of my lieutenants, it doesn't say much for my department, does it?"   
  
"Yes! When were you two going to get around to telling me the news?!"   
  
"We were just going to call you when you so rudely barged in," Abe chided.   
  
"We're having dinner with Mom and Pop at the pub tonight," Roman said, his eyes still on Bo. "As soon as your meeting is over, I want you to come by with a full report. And don't say anything to Marlena, or Mom and Pop for that matter, until we are a little more certain what's going on. You understand me, little brother?"   
  
"You got it, Roman. I'll be by a little after 7. We should be able to figure out our next step once we know a little more," Bo replied, once more focused on the job at hand.   
  
"Come on, Lieutenant. We've got some things to discuss before you hit the streets," Abe said, rising from his chair.   
  
Bo nodded agreeably and turned to head out the door.   
  
"Bo, watch your back. You have a wife and son and a baby on the way- don't take any unnecessary risks," Roman called.   
  
"You worry too much," Bo replied with a cocky grin.   
  
"Not for much longer."   
  
The words were so soft, Abe wasn't certain they had been said.   
  


****************************************   
  


Abe Carver slammed shut the door to his office and finally allowed his frustration to show. "I swear, Bo, how you passed the Lieutenant's exam is a mystery to me. You are as thick as a brick sometimes!"   
  
"What's your problem, Abe?"   
  
"That's Captain Carver to you, officer Brady. Now if you want ever want to pin those shiny bars on your lapel, you will sit your butt down and not make me any madder than I am already!"   
  
Almost growling in his irritation, Abe forced himself to take a long slow breath and count to ten. By the time he got to five, the urge to throttle the younger man was almost gone. Propping his hip on the edge of his desk, Abe looked down on Bo Brady and debated over just exactly how much he wanted to say.   
  
"You don't really believe Dimera is dead, do you? I mean, my tip was good, I'm almost positive," Bo blurted out, unable to take the silence.   
  
Abe sighed and found his teeth starting to grind. "No, Bo, I don't doubt that Dimera is alive. What I am starting to wonder about is your IQ. What exactly were you trying to accomplish by telling Roman about a lead on Dimera?"   
  
"What do you mean? Roman hates the guy! After everything Stefano has done- to me, to Marlena, especially to Roman.... Geesh, why do you think I told him about it?"   
  
"Allow me to rephrase- what exactly did you think Roman was going to do once you told him about the lead?" Abe asked, trying to be patient.   
  
"He'll go after him. This time, we're going to nail that son of a bitch!"   
  
"Bo, what happened the last time we clashed with Stefano? Think about it really hard, now. What happened to the Brady family?"   
  
Bo flushed slightly, his eyes dropping to study the floor beneath his feet. "Well- I still think he's the one who took Marlena after the plane crash- but the last time we know for certain it was Dimera was... the island? When Roman got shot, when we thought he died- I guess that's the last time we know for sure Stefano was involved."   
  
"Do you ever wonder what Stefano did to Roman? He had him for almost a year, Bo. Remember when he came back? The man didn't know who he was. Bo, he still doesn't have most of his memory back! The first time he kissed a girl, the first time he saw Marlena, the first time he kicked your butt for being such a dumbass- all of that is just gone. He will never be the same man he was. Stefano took that from him."   
  
Bo's head snapped up, his eyes locking angrily on Abe's. "That's exactly why Roman deserves to know if Stefano is still alive. Dimera has to pay for what he has done to my family!"   
  
"Bo, it's been 8 years since Marlena came back to us. That means it's been at least 8 years since Stefano has shown any interest in Salem or in the Bradys. Do you really want to start this up again? You know how Roman was when he thought he had lost Marlena. You want to risk him feeling that again? All for a threat that hasn't existed for 8 damn years?"   
  
"No- damn, no. You know that's not what I want, Abe! But we could take him this time. We've got surprise on our side, Dimera doesn't know we're on to him. We know how he works, how he thinks. This time, we'll win."   
  
Bo wasn't backing down, his determination as evident as his anger. Abe raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. "Maybe you're right. In fact, you probably are. But have you considered what 'winning' might cost us? Did you even look at your brother when you told him Stefano was alive? Roman doesn't think clearly when it comes to Dimera. Hell, Bo, he doesn't think at all- he just hates. If he goes after Stefano this time, he'll kill him."   
  
Bo shrugged and glanced away. "Roman's a cop. He won't do anything stupid. I mean, I'm a lot more likely to do something stupid than he is!"   
  
Abe grunted a laugh. "Usually true- but not where it comes to Dimera. Look, Bo, you gotta understand, Roman and I were still on the street as partners when Marlena was lost. You don't realize how bad it was- how violent, how lost Roman was."   
  
"I was there too, you know!" Bo shot back. "He was pissed. He had a right to be. But that was a long time ago and he thought Marlena was dead. Marlena is alive and well and back with my brother. Roman is gonna go after Dimera, but he'll do it as a cop."   
  
Abe shook his head in frustration. "No, Bo, you weren't there. Not like I was. Not every day. You didn't.... Look, this doesn't go any further than this room. Understand?"   
  
"Understand what?"   
  
"When he thought Marlena died, it hurt him. It... damaged him somehow. Even after he came back, started working patrol, acted like he'd accepted it- he still wasn't the same. He was so hard, brittle as ice. It was like, without Marlena all he had was this hate, this rage. I watched him, Bo. All the time, I watched him. I wouldn't leave him alone with a suspect, I made sure I always had his back on a bust. I was afraid. Afraid of what he might do- to himself, to somebody else. For a long time, it was like that. A really long time. I finally started thinking I was paranoid, overreacting. I stopped watching so close, I thought he had it together.   
  
"So we go on, working the streets, making the busts. Everything's good. Maybe Roman doesn't laugh anymore. Maybe sometimes I'll catch this dead look in his eyes when he thinks I'm not watching. But life goes on. One night, I get to the station and find out my partner went to check a lead. No big deal, right? I mean, it shouldn't have been a big deal. But I knew something was wrong, I could feel it in my bones. I checked Roman's desk and I found a note, a tip on an old associate of Dimera's. As soon as I saw the note...   
  
"Anyway, I got in my car and I hauled ass to the address. It was a warehouse, down on the docks. The whole time I was driving, I was thinking I'd better call for back-up. But I don't call for back-up because I'm scared of what I might find when I get there. So I creep into this building and it's all dark and deserted and I started to wonder if I was alone. Then the screaming started- just the sound of fear echoing off the walls. It was so damn loud and I couldn't make out any words but I knew that it wasn't Roman doing the screaming.   
  
"I found them in the center of the warehouse. Roman had the guy handcuffed to a chair. There was blood. A lot of blood. Roman had beat the hell out of the guy. I think he even knocked a couple of teeth out. I didn't want to look close enough to be sure. I didn't want to see any more than I had to. I didn't want to know what was happening at all. But it was too late and I was there and I knew.   
  
"Maybe Roman didn't hear me walk in or maybe he just didn't care. Either way, I watched as he put a revolver right to the guy's temple. He didn't say a word as he pulled the trigger. The chamber was empty, but the guy in the chair, he started screaming even louder. I guess that sort of snapped me out of it. I yelled for Roman to put the gun down, to let the guy go. He just turned and looked at me, as calm as I've ever seen him.   
  
"'This fucker knows where Dimera is,' he said, and he cocked the hammer as he said it. 'I'm going to keep pulling this trigger until he either tells me or I blow his head off- whichever comes first.'   
  
"Bo, the guy didn't know anything. He was begging, pleading. He'd have sold out his own mother to make Roman stop. But Roman wasn't stopping. He was going to keep firing until he killed the man- so I jumped him. I wrapped my arms around him and took him down, just as he pulled the trigger on a live round. A second later and the man would have been dead.   
  
"Roman didn't fight me. He didn't do anything, just sort of lay there looking like he didn't care what happened next. I took his gun and left him sitting there while I got the guy in the chair cleaned up. The guy was so scared he wasn't going to say a thing. I found some coke in his pocket- dealer weight. That's a mandatory 10 year sentence. I told the guy he ever showed his face in Salem again, he every told anyone about what had happened, I'd make sure he did those 10 years the hard way. Then I got Roman out of there. I took him home, made him take a couple of weeks off. Had Shawn and Caroline go with him and the kids on a long fishing trip out in the woods. We never talked about what happened, Bo. Roman never said a word to me about it since the day it happened. That was the last time we had a lead on Dimera. I was hoping we would never have another."   
  
Bo sat, staring up at Carver for a long minute. "Roman wouldn't do that," he finally said.   
  
"Roman did do that, Bo. He'll do it again if he gets the chance. You're fooling yourself if you think otherwise."   
  
"He deserves to know. If Stefano is alive, he deserves to know."   
  
"He deserves to be happy. His family deserves to be happy. If he goes after Dimera again, he risks losing everything and everyone he loves. If he goes after Dimera, he could lose himself."   
  
"What do you want me to do?" Bo asked, shaking his head as if still rejecting Abe's words.   
  
"I want you to let it go. No matter what you find out from the snitch, I want you to just let it go. You owe it to Roman. You owe it to the family. Do you think you can do that?"   
  
Bo rose stiffly to his feet. "I need to talk to my snitch. Before I decide anything, I have to hear what he has to say. After that- I don't know."   
  
"You think about it. Think about it hard. You gotta decide, Bo- how high a price are you willing to pay for revenge?"   
  
Chapter 3   
  
"Mm, what smells so good," Carrie asked, walking in the door of the Brady Pub.   
  
"Carrie! It's so good to have you back from school. You're going to have to tell us all about your first year," Caroline cried, rushing over to give her granddaughter a hug. With an efficiency born of many years of practice, she effortlessly herded the children toward the big table in the corner where Shawn was already setting down a pot of his famous chowder.   
  
"Grab a chair everybody, we've got celebrating to do," he called with a grin. "The whole clan is finally back in town!"   
  
Marlena held Roman's arm, smiling as her three children chatted excitedly with their grandparents. Looking up at her husband, she noted for the third time that hour the distant look in his eyes. "What's wrong Roman, you seem a little distracted?" she prodded, knowing his tendency to withdraw from her when he was very angry or very afraid.   
  
"Just a case I'm working on, Doc. Sorry, I'll try and be better company," Roman answered, careful to keep the tension out of his voice. His wife was a hard woman to fool, but that didn't mean he couldn't try.   
  
"Want to tell me about it?"   
  
"Naw, it's probably nothing anyway. But how about you? How was your day? Cure any crazy people?" He smiled as he teased her, suddenly aware of how very lucky he was to have her by his side. He couldn't lose her. Not again. He refused to even consider the possibility.   
  
"Your attempt to change the subject is even more feeble than usual," she said, quirking a brow in a gesture he had always thought of as regal. "Besides, 'crazy' is not a term we psychiatrists use."   
  
"Hm- as I recall, you use the term on me all the time, 'Dr. Evans'." He held the chair out for his wife, chuckling as she slapped him lightly on the arm. Bo walked in the door and Roman's easy demeanor died.   
  
"Well," called Shawn, "One more place at the table! Come grab a seat Bo."   
  
Bo stood in the doorway of the pub looking distinctly uneasy. "Sorry Pops, but I need to see Roman for a minute. Just some work stuff."   
  
Roman gave Marlena's shoulder a quick squeeze and walked wordlessly to meet his brother. The two men exchanged knowing nods and stepped outside, closing the door behind them. Marlena's concerned gaze followed them, every instinct she had screaming to her that something was very wrong. There was something going on and she had a strong hunch that she was not going to like it. If Roman thought he was going to keep it a secret, he had another thing coming.   
  
Roman gazed guiltily through the window of the pub, well aware of Marlena's feelings about secrets. He kept his voice low, as if that might somehow mitigate the deception. "So what's up, Bo? Did your snitch confirm that the smuggling operation is Dimera's work?"   
  
Bo shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at his older brother. "It didn't pan out. Looks like we got bad intel. Sorry, Roman- I really didn't mean to get your hopes up about this."   
  
"You sounded pretty sure about it this morning. What the hell went wrong?" Roman snapped, his anger flaring unexpectedly.   
  
"Hey, I told you this wasn't a sure thing. The snitch couldn't tell me anything. It was a bust. It happens. What do you want me to say?" Bo shrugged defensively and started edging in the direction of his bike.   
  
"Hold it right there, Bo Brady. You think I'm going to accept such a lame-assed report, you better think again. I want to know exactly what happened at the meet, down to the last detail."   
  
"The snitch was dead, Roman," Bo replied, his voice subdued. "When I got there, he was dead. It was the only lead and now it's gone."   
  
"What? You weren't going to mention this to me?" Roman hissed. "What exactly happened to the snitch?"   
  
"I got to the meet and he didn't show. I went outside to look around, and, well.... Forensics is over there now. I found him hanging from a hook outside the warehouse. It looks like he was beaten to death. I think somebody cut his tongue out. If I had to guess, I'd say somebody was sending a message"   
  
"Christ! I knew I should have gone with you! This has Dimera's name written all over it!" A smile that Bo didn't like crossed Roman's face, but the older man was oblivious to the scrutiny.   
  
"Look," Roman continued. "I know it's late, but can you get me a full report on everything you know, everything that you suspect, by morning? Have the department make me a plane reservation. I'm going down to New Orleans tomorrow."   
  
"It's a bad idea, Roman. There's no proof that Dimera was involved. I doubt it's even him down in New Orleans. Why not just alert the locals, have them look into it?"   
  
"Dimera belongs to me, Bo. I'm not going to let him slip away this time. Not again. Make the reservation, I want to be there tomorrow."   
  
"Why don't I make it two reservations? You could use the backup. Besides, I love creole cooking."   
  
"No way, Bo. Hope will have my head if I take you with me on some wild goose chase in Louisiana. This is just a scouting trip, I can handle it on my own. I don't want to get everyone upset until we know more of what's going on."   
  
"Hope won't mind. Heck, she'll probably be glad to have me out from underfoot for a few days. I really think I should go with you Roman- you need someone you can trust."   
  
"You're kinda insistent about this, aren't you little brother?" Roman asked, his eyes narrowing in sudden suspicion.   
  
"It's just that the New Orleans P.D. doesn't exactly have the best record when it comes to corruption, and you know that wherever Dimera is, he'll have contacts within all of the important agencies. It's too risky for you to go alone. If something happened.... Roman, I'm the one who got the tip. I'm the one who should go."   
  
"I'm the Police Commander, I say who should go. I go and I go alone, end of discussion."   
  
"Marlena won't like it," Bo replied, playing his trump card.   
  
"You threatening me, little brother? I wouldn't suggest it," Roman said, his voice flat and hard.   
  
"I'm not threatening anything, Roman. I just meant- well, you are planning on telling her, aren't you?"   
  
"What I do or do not tell my wife is none of your business. And I don't need you or Abe playing mother hen. You can convey that message to your Captain. Comprendes?"   
  
"I'm just worried about you, okay? So sue me," Bo replied, irritated to be read so easily.   
  
"Don't worry- and that's an order," Roman said, softening his words. "Look, if we both go down there, Marlena and the kids are sure to get suspicious. I don't want them worried until I know for sure there is something to worry about. It took this family a long time to heal from the wounds Stefano left. Marlena still has nightmares and the kids.... Hell, I want my kids to have some semblance of a normal life. I don't want them looking over their shoulders, wondering if someone is watching. Wondering if one day their family is going to be ripped apart again. I won't put them through that until I have good cause.   
  
"Bo, I promise to keep my head down- just check out the scene, see if I can catch a whiff of Dimera's handiwork. I'll be back within the week and then we can sit the whole family down, let them know if there's cause for concern. I don't want to put them through that without good reason. I'm not going to do anything to put the family at risk, Bo. I just want to sort things out before I make any plans."   
  
"You promise you aren't going to do anything stupid?"   
  
"Anything like what?" Roman asked with feigned innocence.   
  
"Anything like play Russian roulette with some snitch's head. Anything like cold-blooded murder. You know- anything like that," Bo challenged.   
  
"Abe talks too much," Roman said gruffly.   
  
"He's worried about you. It kinda sounds like he should be."   
  
"That was a long time ago and I thought Marlena was gone. It was not one of my finer moments."   
  
"That wasn't exactly the promise I was looking for."   
  
"It's the closest thing you're gonna get right now."   
  
Peering through the shadows, Bo tried to read his brother's face. He wondered if the crooked grin was meant to be reassuring. If it was, it failed miserably. "I still think it's a lousy idea," he finally muttered. "If you aren't back within the week, Abe and I are coming down to get you."   
  
"Your faith in me is touching," Roman said dryly, slapping the younger man's shoulder. "Now, how about we stop making trouble where none exists? Come on in and have dinner with the folks."   
  
"I'd like to, but I'd better get home to Hope and Shawn D. Besides, I've got to make sure everything's set for tomorrow." With an uneasy nod to Roman, Bo turned and disappeared into the night.   
  
Roman watched until Bo was lost to the darkness, his thoughts drifting back to the bad times when he thought Marlena was gone. He had almost forgotten the incident in the warehouse, but then again, he didn't remember much of the long years he had spent without her. He didn't want to remember, the pain of it something he could do without. Trust Abe to remember. That's what came of working with a man so closely that you grew to read each other's minds. Abe had pulled him through that rough time, maybe even more than his family had. Abe had been there. Always, Abe had been there. When the hate had burned so bright that it threatened to blind him, when the only thing that seemed to offer relief was to lose himself in violence, Abe had held him back. Roman had known that Abe would be there, backing him up no matter what he did. He might have been willing to throw his own life away, but he had refused to drag his partner down with him. Men had lived who would have otherwise died, all because his partner had known enough not to trust him.   
  
Roman chuckled grimly, recognizing that once again, his partner didn't trust him. Of course, once again, his partner was right. Stefano Dimera was a dead man. Roman wouldn't leave the bayou without seeing his blood.   
  
Leaning against the side of the building, Roman watched through the windows as his family talked and joked and laughed. The words were lost to him, but the emotions came through loud and clear. He was blessed and he knew it. His mother caught him staring and waved him in, the smile on her face not quite disguising the concern in her eyes. Having two cops for sons had taught her to be wary, and he hated fact that he caused her worry. He flashed her a grin even as he wondered what she would think if she knew his plans. His Catholic guilt should have been gnawing at him, but it wasn't. Stefano's death would be one sin he would not repent. His smile broadened at the thought, and he opened the door with only one concern still nagging. Killing Stefano would be a pleasure. But lying to his wife, that was something else entirely.   
  


****************************************   
  


"It was nice having everyone together for dinner," Marlena said, sitting down on the edge of their bed and running a brush through her long blond hair.   
  
"Mm hm," Roman muttered vaguely. He finished tying off a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and slipped beneath the cool cotton sheets. Propping his head on his arms, he lay still and permitted himself the privilege of watching his wife. He loved her little rituals at the end of the day. Hell, he loved everything about her. He would die before he would lose her again. Stefano Dimera was a threat, and so Stefano had to go.   
  
"Too bad Bo couldn't stay," she continued, ignoring his refusal to play her game. "Why did he come by? That case you were worrying about earlier? You know- the one you wouldn't tell me about."   
  
"Subtle," he replied, grinning despite himself.   
  
"You're going to tell me about it now, though- aren't you?" She dropped the brush on the nightstand and flipped off the light. Easing across the bed, she tucked herself in beside him. Her head nestled comfortable against his shoulder, she draped her arm across his chest and whispered in his ear. "My dear and loving husband would never try and keep secrets from his wife, now would he?"   
  
"He would if he thought he had a prayer of succeeding," he whispered back.   
  
"But my husband is not so foolish as to think such a thing, is he?"   
  
Her laughter tickled his ear, the almost-touch making his skin ache. With a soft sigh, he surrendered. "No, your husband is not that foolish. It's just, I didn't want to upset you. I wanted to try and enjoy the first night out with Carrie. I'm sorry, babe, but it looks like I might have to leave town for a couple of days. I know the timing's bad, but...."   
  
She pulled away from him, the sudden movement stopping him short. Rolling over to face him, she searched for his face in the darkness. "Anytime would be a bad time to leave, Roman. We haven't been apart since... we haven't been apart in years. I don't want to start now."   
  
He cursed under his breath, his fingers reaching out to find her cheek. "Hey, Doc. Don't get upset on me, here. It's just a day or two and then I'll be back. It's important. Really."   
  
"Important as in dangerous? Roman, police commanders do not run around on assignments! They sit at desks and they come home in time for dinner!" Fear made her words harsh and she almost wished she could take them back.   
  
"It's not dangerous, honey. I promise you, it's not. Just a fact finding trip. The case is really important to Bo. I told him I would check it out for him."   
  
"If it's Bo's case then let Bo go on the trip."   
  
"I hate arguing with you. You do realize that?"   
  
"Then don't go," she replied, and he felt her body shift away from him in the big bed.   
  
"Marlena, Hope is 6 months pregnant! I don't want Bo going out of town right now. You know I'm right about this."   
  
"Roman Brady, you are in charge of an entire police force. I'm certain that if you put your mind to it, you could come up with at least one person you could send in your place."   
  
Her tone could have caused frostbite and he grimaced, wondering just what it was he was doing that was so wrong. If he weren't such a lying sack of shit, he might have been mad. As it was, he was merely frustrated. "Doc, it's Bo's first case as a lieutenant. He wants to do a good job, make a good impression. He's the one who wanted to go down to New Orleans- talk with their detective division and get some intel on a smuggling operation he's working on. I'm the only one he would let take his place, largely because I can order him to do it."   
  
"Bo made lieutenant!" she said, her voice softening.   
  
"Yea," he said with a chuckle. "Being a cop must run in the blood."   
  
Marlena sighed and let herself be tugged back down into the comfort of his arms. "Just my luck, marry a guy who carries a gun."   
  
"It just makes sense for me to go down there, babe. You see that, don't you?"   
  
Her hand crept across his chest, seeking its rightful place above his heart. "I'll miss you," she finally said.   
  
"I'll miss you too." Holding her in his arms, he stared into the darkness and listened to her breathe. He was still listening when the first rays of sunlight washed through their room.   
  
Chapter 4   
  
"What? What is it?" he asked, catching her staring at him as he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped through the bathroom door.   
  
"Hm- oh, nothing. Just thinking that you never use that lovely robe I got you for Christmas," she replied. A faint smile curved her lips as she watched him walk across the floor. His skin was still damp from the shower, the steam following him into the room as he strode quickly past her. Without a doubt, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.   
  
As if reading her thoughts, his cheeks flushed a faint pink, and she knew that he could feel her eyes following his every move. He was such a little boy in so many ways. Of course, in other ways....   
  
"What?!"   
  
"Nothing!" She tried to look innocent, but the laughter bubbled up despite her best efforts.   
  
"Is this about last night?"   
  
"What about last night?" she asked, her face a study in innocence.   
  
"Women!" he muttered, turning his back on her in an attempt to ignore her stare. He fumbled around for a pair of matching socks and tried to pretend she wasn't there.   
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her breath sliding across the damp skin of his neck in a way that made his entire body shiver. One slender arm curled around his waist as the inviting heat of her plastered itself to his back.   
  
"You're forgiven," he croaked.   
  
"It's just, I seem to be suffering from a very severe case today."   
  
"Severe case of what?" He heard his words from a distance, the blood roaring in his ears as her hand played with the knot that held the towel closed.   
  
"Penis envy- a very severe case indeed."   
  
"You could borrow mine," he grunted, his hips jerking forward as if eager to share.   
  
"What'll it cost me?"   
  
"What do you got?"   
  
She chuckled, her teeth skimming down the side of his neck as the towel dropped to the floor. Her left hand circled his chest, teasing lightly across one dark nipple. With slightly more pressure, the fingernails of her right hand scrapped the sensitive skin of his groin.   
  
"Deal," he wheezed out as every red corpuscle in his body raced to the beckoning call of her fingers. A low moan that spoke of nothing but need leaked from his throat and he turned in her arms. He tugged at her dress, trying hard to resist the urge to simply rip it from her body. He could never get enough of her. Never. The more he had, the more he wanted.   
  
"Don't leave me," she moaned, even as he pushed her down on the bed and pulled the nightgown over her head.   
  
"Could never leave you. Never. I'll be back. I swear it."   
  
His words hissed in her ear, more threat than promise. Their meaning was lost before it could be found, her hips arching from the bed as practiced hands stroked her slender thighs. Soft lips swallowed her cries, the two of them moving together as one single being. It was only much later, when he rose on trembling legs and turned away from her, that she realized they weren't.   
  
"You're still going?" she said, pulling her nightgown to her as if the thin silk could replace his warmth.   
  
The muscles in his back clenched and when he spoke, his words were cold. "You have to ask?"   
  
"Yes- I do. What aren't you telling me, Roman?" She slipped from the bed, cornering him against the bureau when he tried to walk away. When she put her hand to his chest to stop him, he flinched from her touch.   
  
"Tell me," she repeated.   
  
"You worry over nothing," Roman muttered. "There's nothing to tell."   
  
"Don't lie. It doesn't suit you." Reaching out, she forced his head up until he had no choice but to meet her gaze. "Tell me."   
  
"I'll be back," he finally said, pulling gently free of her grip. "I'll be back, that's not a lie."   
  
"Don't do this, Roman. We couldn't survive without you."   
  
"You survived without me once before," he snapped, his voice suddenly hard. Her face went pale and he cursed his own stupidity. "I'm sorry! God, Doc, I'm sorry." He circled her resisting body with his arms. "I didn't mean...."   
  
Shaking her head frantically, she pushed away from him and he let her go. "We did not survive without you! We waited for you, Roman Brady! _I _waited for you." Dashing away the tears from her cheeks, she locked her eyes on his. "I would be waiting for you still."   
  
"I know, babe. I'm sorry," he said, taking her hands gingerly into his own. "I was just.... You think this doesn't make me angry? You think I want to leave? I have to do this Marlena and you fighting me on it just makes it harder. I just... you know I can't fight with you. I didn't mean what I said. I was an ass and I'm sorry."   
  
"You were an ass," she said with a grim nod.   
  
"I know."   
  
"And mean. You were mean, too."   
  
"I'm sorry I was mean. I'm sorry I was an ass." He hung his head and looked up at her, finally coaxing the slightest smile from her lips.   
  
"And those socks don't match."   
  
"You're pushing it," he said with a crooked grin.   
  
"You deserve it," she replied, her smile echoing his.   
  
"I know," he said softly, pulling her to him.   
  
Resting her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and tried not to be afraid. "I must love you a lot to put up with you."   
  
"I know," he repeated, rocking her gently. After a long moment, she turned her head and looked up at him.   
  
"If you aren't back in a few days, I am going to hunt you down and kick your butt."   
  
"I know that too."   
  


****************************************   
  


Roman jogged down the stairs, still not certain if he were forgiven. A rapidly dwindling stack of French toast greeted him and he quickly snagged a chair and a glass of juice.   
  
"You're a little late this morning. Busy night?" Carrie teased, raising a spatula in salute.   
  
Roman blushed and shot his eldest child a dirty look. "Sounds like someone's growing up a little too fast. Maybe we should bring you back home for a few years rather than let you stay in that coed dorm you were telling us stories about last night."   
  
"No way- I am not going back to sharing a room full time!" Glaring across the table at her father, Sami raised a fist in mock warning.   
  
"You're dressed kinda casual. Going on a stake-out today?" Eric asked, ignoring his sisters entirely. Their curiosity piqued, all three kids focused their attention on him.   
  
"Sorry guys, nothing nearly so dramatic. I just have to take a little plane trip down to New Orleans and I'd rather travel in comfort."   
  
The awkward silence stretched out indefinitely, and Roman came to the belated realization that Marlena was not the only one likely to disapprove of his little trip.   
  
"It's just for a couple of days. It's just meetings, nothing dangerous," he continued casually, painfully aware of the fact he hadn't considered the children's reactions.   
  
"Do you have to go Dad?" Sami finally asked.   
  
"Yes kiddo, it's an important meeting. Don't worry guys, this isn't even field work. I promise I'll be back by the time you two have your learner's permits, if that's what's got you worried," he said, trying to lighten the tension. "Really, I'm not doing this to avoid teaching you two how to drive. Really, that's not it, I would never do such a thing!" His sarcasm finally elicited faint smiles from the twins, but Carrie didn't look convinced.   
  
"Are you sure it will be okay dad?" Carrie asked.   
  
"Positive punkin- I'll be back in no time, I promise you. Now, enough of this. Give your old man a hug and let me get out of here. I've got a plane to catch and some reports to go over before I do. Come on- group hug," he said grinning. He gathered the three of them up in his arms and held on, maybe a little tighter than normal.   
  
"Love you guys, and I promise to bring back presents," he said, kissing each on their forehead. He let go, stepping back to see Marlena watching him fondly, a faint smile on her face that could not quite hide the worry in her eyes.   
  
"Let me walk you to the door, lover. I want to see you for as long as I possibly can," she said, slipping an arm about his waist.   
  
At the door, she turned him to face her, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "Promise me, promise me on our love...you will take care and you will come home to me."   
  
Roman pulled her into a tight embrace, forcing himself not to squeeze too hard. For an instance he wavered, wanting nothing more than to go back inside his home and forget that Stefano Dimera had ever existed. Running his fingers through her hair he breathed in her scent, memorized the feeling of her skin beneath his fingers. He wouldn't risk her. He couldn't risk her. Stefano Dimera alive was a risk, and a risk to her could not be tolerated.   
  
"I promise you, I will be fine," he finally said. "I love you, Doc. Nothing and no one could keep me from coming back to you. Back to you, our children, my family- you are my life. Never doubt that." He felt the pain his words caused her, the hurt his leaving brought. Ducking his head, he broke their embrace and walked steadily to his car. He never looked back. If he looked back, he knew he wouldn't leave.   
  
  



	2. Book II: A Season in Hell

Book II: A Season in Hell   
  
Chapter 5   
  
Roman walked out of the airport terminal, his shirt instantly plastering itself against his skin. Ah, the joys of springtime in New Orleans- 100% humidity, gators to bite you in the ass and flying cockroaches to finish off your mangled remains. This was what being an ass to his wife bought him.   
  
With a sigh that verged on a growl, he turned to the young officer who stood at his side. "Lead the way, officer Ramie. I'm ready to get to the station house, get out of this heat."   
  
"Actually, sir, Captain Hale wanted me to take you to a little local restaurant. He thought ya'll could talk over an early dinner."   
  
Roman smothered another sigh. All he really wanted was to check-in with the department and then hit a hotel so he could call Marlena. He missed her already. Southerners and their incessant good manners- damn them all. The New Orleaneans were the worst, he'd be lucky to make it to a hotel before dawn if prior experience was any indicator. Pushing aside his impatience, he merely nodded. "Sounds good. I haven't had crawfish in ages."   
  


****************************************   
  


The steps sagged beneath his weight and Roman wondered how this place had avoided being condemned years ago. At least he didn't have to worry about vermin. His eyes already stung from the scent of the chile peppers- nothing could survive long in such an atmosphere. He had to struggle to remember why he had thought coming to New Orleans would be a good idea.   
  
The restaurant had obviously yet to be discovered by the hordes of tourists that flocked to the city, the tables virtually unoccupied. Slow-moving ceiling fans did little to disturb the cloud of smoke generated by the locals clustered around the bar, and the man he was here to meet was easy to spot amidst the rickety tables that dotted the main room. Conspicuous in his shoulder holster, the sleeves of his blue oxford rolled-up over bulging biceps, a beefy man sat holding court in the far corner of the room. Walking over, Roman extended his hand "Captain Hale?"   
  
Rising to his feet, the man dominating the corner met his grip in a firm clasp. "Commander Brady? A pleasure. We've heard of your work against organized crime even down here in the heart of the bayou. My department is at your disposal."   
  
"I appreciate your cooperation," Roman answered, sitting carefully down in the chair facing the Captain, grateful when it didn't collapse underneath him. "We have a lead on a smuggling operation, and it looks like it originated out of here."   
  
"Entirely possible," Hale replied. "Given our waterways, and the difficulties of patrolling the marshes, we get more than our share of smugglers. But before we get down to the nitty gritty, let me treat you to a New Orleans delicacy." Gesturing toward the bar, the Captain yelled out, "Two orders of gumbo and a basket of dirt dobbers, Ernie. And bring a cold one for my friend."   
  
Gratefully sipping on the ice cold beer, Roman leaned back and gave up all hope of getting out of dinner in anything even resembling a timely fashion. If he was going to be stuck in this smokey dive for a couple of hours, he might as well enjoy it. While always alert to treachery where Dimera was involved, he had checked out Hale's reputation and he had come-up as clean as anyone could. If he was going to get anywhere on this case, he was going to have to trust someone and Hale had avoided the scandal that plagued so many in the higher echelons of the New Orleans P.D. Getting comfortable, Roman nodded at the captain. "So, tell me what you have on an underworld figure who goes by the alias 'the Phoenix'."   
  


****************************************   
  


"Damn boy, I'm telling you, I don't care if it is Stefano Dimera. Nobody can run a base of operations as big as you're suggesting off of our coast without us having at least some inkling of it. The gulf coast runs long, but access to that kind of volume is just not feasible. Come on in the back. Ernie has a map in his office- I'll show you what I mean," Hale said, rising from the corner table they had monopolized for the past two hours.   
  
The meeting was not going well. Captain Hale refused to admit to even the possibility of such an intricate organization operating in Louisiana waters. It was a load of crap, and Roman knew it. The Captain was not going to be much help and Roman wasn't certain if it was because he was dirty or merely stupid. With a mental shrug, Roman followed the big man into the back, already thinking up excuses for calling it an early night.   
  
The small room's single lightbulb hung directly over a rickety table. Hale draped a large map of the Louisiana coast over the pitted surface, blunt fingers tracing the waterline. "Look, there are only a very few spots where the water is too shallow for our patrol boats and yet transportation inland is sufficient for the quantities you're talking about. We know all of those spots. There is no way the kind of volume you're looking for could be getting in undetected."   
  
Roman feigned interest, leaning over to study the expanses of marsh indicated on the map. Hale's heavy hand slapped against his shoulder and he jerked back at the sudden stabbing pain. Backing away, he stumbled against the wall behind him, letting it take his weight.   
  
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He shook his head, trying to clear away the sudden fog that obscured his vision. Captain Hale stood looking at him, a peculiar expression on his face. Son of a bitch....   
  
Roman struggled to stand, to resist the effects of whatever drugs were surging through his system. He managed a single step forward before he lost his balance and crashed down on top of the table. The sound of splintering wood, and he was on his knees. The dimly made out forms of two men moved through the room. He raised his hands, tried to stand, tried to fight. The last thing he felt was the floor, coming up to meet him.   


****************************************   
  


His head snapped back as if kicked and he found himself drowning. Ice cold water bruised his face, forced its way down his throat, up his nose. Flopping over on his belly, he coughed up the water and tried to remember where he was. The force pounding against his back suddenly stopped, leaving him huddled in the center of a small concrete room. Shit! Gotta get up. Gotta get out. He managed to reach his knees before the rushing stream of water slammed into him again, sending him spinning across the floor. He hit the wall hard and stayed there, struggling to breathe through sodden lungs. When the water finally stopped, he remained prone, trying to get his bearings. The air was muggy, so thick you could almost see it. A tremor shook his frame and bare skin prickled in reaction to the icy water, the contrast with warm air making his frozen skin ache. Stripped bare, he felt the rough rock beneath him as it scrapped against his flesh. He forced stiff joints to move, curling into the fetal position, trying to stop the shaking of his body.   
  
"On your knees, Brady. Face the wall, and lock your hands together on top of your head. Move it, you know the drill," a voice barked out of the surrounding lights.   
  
Roman groggily raised his head, swiveling to face the voice, trying to make out an image behind the blinding lights glaring at him from the far side of the small room. Another blast of water lashed out at him, forcing him back into the wall. Distantly, he noted that they were using a firehose on him. Stefano always did have a creative talent when it came to ways of breaking a man down. The pressure once again released him from its grip and he sank to the floor, coughing up more water, feeling like he'd already puked an ocean. He was no longer certain which was worse, the water forcing its way down his throat or the water forcing its way back up moments later.   
  
"We can do this all day Brady- now stop screwing around and face the wall," the voice called again.   
  
Knowing there was no point in resistance at this stage of the game, Roman complied. He clenched his jaw shut to still the chattering of his teeth and rolled himself to his knees. The blank concrete wall watched him as he linked his hands together on the top of his head and waited, feeling very naked and very vulnerable. It was the exact way he was supposed to be feeling, but knowing that didn't make it any better. Knowing it made it worse.   
  
The sound of footsteps behind him. Two sets. Boots. He involuntarily flinched, expecting the beginning of a beating. Instead, a pair of dark grey sweat pants fell to the floor next to him.   
  
"Get dressed."   
  
Unexpected. Appreciated. He hated that he appreciated. He grabbed the pants anyway. With stiff fingers, he slowly pulled the thin cotton over his legs, trying to give himself time to assess the situation. Two burly guards, armed with nightsticks, stood directly behind him. Through the lights on the far wall, he could make out another pair of figures, one of them holding the fire hose. Four men. No way he could take four men. He blinked his eyes as his vision blurred. Drugs. He did not need his mind fogged with more drugs. Better a beating than the drugs.   
  
"Get up. Get up!"   
  
The toe of a boot prodded him in the ribs and he felt the first flash of anger surge through his blood. It felt strangely good.   
  
"Get on your feet, Brady."   
  
The baton whipped out, thudding solidly against the muscle of his shoulder. Roman flashed the guard a smile that was anything but friendly and forced himself upright. Roughly he was pushed forward, his hands slapping against the wall in front of him in an effort to keep his balance. His feet were kicked wide apart and he stood braced precariously against the wall. He focused his attention on the sound of his ragged breathing and tried not to think about what was going to happen next. Whatever it was, he wouldn't like it.   
  
Two guards. He could take two guards. A little voice inside his head told him he could drop them both and never break a sweat. He ignored the little voice, it scared him more than the guards. Fear. He hated fear. Hated it more than pain, more than death, more than betrayal. Rage was much better than fear, and he could feel the rage rising. He feared it too.   
  
A heavy hand on the back of his neck, and his cheek ground against the concrete wall. Rough rock against his skin, and he knew the blood had started to flow. It brought with it clarity and his breathing eased. He could feel the oxygen flowing through his body, the blood speeding it to his muscles. Two guards at his back. Two guards were nothing. His lips pulled back against his teeth in a grin he never noticed. _Only_ two guards.   
  
One arm was jerked behind his back, tugged high up between his shoulder blades, the joint aching from the strain. The 'click' of the handcuffs, and cold steel wrapped tight around his right wrist. White light exploded behind his eyes as a long forgotten memory came suddenly into focus.   
  
"_You want me to do what?"   
_   
_The old man leans comfortably back in his padded chair. Swirling a snifter of cognac, he studies the amber fluid and tries to repress a smile. "I want you to put them on. The concept is simple."   
_   
"_The concept is simply stupid. There is a difference, you know."   
_   
"_John, I am telling you, this is a necessary step in establishing your cover. It will only be for a few days, don't be such a baby about it."   
_   
"_Why am I always the one going undercover?" With a resigned sigh, he sinks down into the chair before the desk. The metal cuffs dangle from his finger and he eyes them distastefully.   
_   
"_Because you enjoy it. Remember? You were complaining about being bored- well, I found you something to do."   
_   
_Stefano's dark eyes follow his every move, and he realizes he is again tugging at the bandages that wrap his face. Irritated by his lapse, he drops his hand to his lap and shoots the old man a scowl. "I think I prefer being bored."   
_   
"_John, what's the problem with the handcuffs? You've never hesitated over a mission in your life. Why now?"   
_   
_Dimera's looking at him with those 'mother hen' eyes again and it pisses him off to no end. The old man wants to talk about the Soledinos for the millionth time. Fuck the Soledinos- he'll do anything to avoid thinking about them. "There's nothing wrong with the stupid handcuff's, Stefano. They just remind me of cops. You know how I feel about cops."   
_   
_Black eyes continue to bore into him and as always, he rises to the challenge he sees there. The young man never blinks as he snaps the steel snug about his own wrist. He clamps down, forcing the circle smaller, feeling it pinch his skin. He snarls an ugly smile and ratchets the metal tighter, waiting for the fear to make itself known. Stefano's face pales, eyes narrowing in worry, and he knows he should stop. He can't stop, needing to face the fear. Needing to beat it. The fear never comes, but the rage takes its place. It howls through his mind, grateful for its freedom and needing to be fed._   
  
Jesus, Stefano had owned him. He had wiped him clean and taken everything that mattered. His name, his memories, his wife- all of it gone. Not again. He would not lose her. He would not go back. Not even Stefano could make him go back.   
  
"No!" His vision blurred, his brain on fire. His body moved, the muscles flowing through a dance long forgotten. A step back and the fingers of a guard tightened their hold, digging into his shoulder. The perfect distance and he slammed his head back into the face of the nearest guard. He heard the bones snap, the grunt of pain. The rage fed, consumed, demanded. Kill them all. Kill them now. Deep inside his mind, something ugly broke free.   
  
He spun around, his knee taking the second guard in the groin. The man dropped like he had been polaxed, retching up his guts and no longer a threat. The guard who was still standing ignored the blood gushing from his nose, yanking at the club on his belt. So freak'n slow- where did Stefano get these losers? He put his bare foot through the man's jaw, the crack of bone loud in the small concrete room. The dead man moved as slowly in death as he had in life. Roman watched as the body toppled to the floor, the light in the eyes fading as the jagged shards of bone worked their way deep into the brain. Two seconds and both guards were down. Two whole seconds- he was out of practice.   
  
He loped across the floor, pure instinct and animal need. The lights called to him, Dimera was waiting. Kill Dimera. He was almost to the lights when the full force of the hose slammed into his chest, once again knocking him off his feet. This time, he curled into a ball to give himself breathing space. With a clarity of thought he could never have imagined, he waited impatiently for the blast to stop so that he could finish off the remaining guards. In this place in his mind, there was no fear and no mercy, and he luxuriated in the hunt even as the pressure of the water pounded against his aching ribs.   
  
Over the sound of the water, he heard a familiar voice. "He's too dangerous like this- hit him with the taser- put him down." It was a voice out of a nightmare, and he tried to fight against the water to get to the man the voice belonged to. Get to him before the jolt of electricity from the taser took away his consciousness, robbing him of the kill. Blinded by the spray of water, he didn't even feel the taser's dart hit home in his thigh, but his body arched in agony as the electric current surged through his system and shut down his motor control. As he hit the stone floor, fluttering on the edge of awareness, he heard the voice order "hit him again," and the lights went out.   
  
Chapter 6   
  
His heart pounded out an irregular rhythm that sent the pain lancing through his head like a knife. He took short hard gasps of the thick air and tried to see past the white haze that fogged his mind. The smell of dirt, of medicine, of sweat- he concentrated on that and ignored the tight leather that pulled against his chest, dug into his arms and legs. He ignored the stiff bite of the strap at his neck as it cut off his breath. He ignored the pain, he ignored the panic, he ignored....   
  
"Let me up!" The words tore free of his throat and his body spasmed, jerking against the bonds that tied him firmly to the high-backed wooden chair. The bright light that shone down on him was suddenly blocked off, a dark figure looming above him. A worried face. A fearful face. A familiar face.   
  
"Let me up," he hissed, his features drawn back in a snarl. The blood starting to flow as the skin on his wrists tore and the rage surged through his mind with the intensity of a tidal wave. "I'm gonna kill you. I am gonna fuck'n kill you!"   
  
"John, stop it! You're going to hurt yourself. Stop it!" Dimera moved to snake one long arm around the bound man's chest and pulled him back against the worn wood of the chair. The body writhed in his grasp, muscles twisting as if seeking to escape the very skin that contained them. The man's heart pulsed against the palm of his hand, a random pattern that could stop at any moment. With his free hand, Stefano snatched a syringe from a nearby tray and plunged the needle deep into the meat of the bare shoulder. The tranquilizer took quick effect and the sweating body began to still.   
  
"John. Roman! Stop it," Stefano repeated, his voice growing gentle, almost soothing. He felt the pulse beneath his fingers begin to slow, to steady. The man's head lolled forward, no longer fighting against the restraints. A tremble ran through the bound body and clouded blue eyes struggled to focus.   
  
"What the hell do you want from me, Dimera?" The words hurt and he forced them slowly out between long gulps for air. Please, God- he could not go through this again.   
  
Stefano's deep chuckle rang out. "I should ask you that. You are the one who came looking for me. Why did you do that? I would have thought you content to stay in Salem with the lovely Marlena."   
  
"You know why I'm here." The arm around his chest withdrew, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He shivered, despite the heat of the room.   
  
"Yes, John, I do know why you're here. I am wondering if you know. Well?"   
  
"Stop calling me that!" The words came out in a sob, and he strained once more against the tight leather straps.   
  
"Then indulge me. Tell me if you know why you came to me."   
  
The body finally slumped in the chair, held up only by the restraints. Blue eyes sought out black, as he bared his teeth in a feral grin. "Yes, I know why I came here. I came here to kill you, old man."   
  
Stefano reached out and brushed back a strand of dark hair. "You didn't do a very good job of it," he replied with a small smile.   
  
"The day's still young."   
  
Again, the sound of dark laughter. "Ah, but I have missed you! I had almost given you up as lost. I should have known you were too stubborn for that."   
  
"After all you've done to me, to my family.... Dimera, I will never stop. Never. Not until you are dead and rotting, I swear to God."   
  
Stefano's eyes narrowed, a hint of anger flashing in their dark depths. Slowly, he circled the chair, taking unconscious pleasure in the sight of his helpless opponent. He stopped once he reached the rear of the chair and selected a new needle from the array on the medical tray. With the flick of a finger, he cleared the air bubbles from the fluid and then slipped the long needle deep into the neck of his prisoner. Dimera took his time, relishing the moment before gently pushing the plunger home.   
  
Roman's fingers clenched, digging into the scarred wood of the armrests. He could feel the drug hit his system, the searing heat spreading swiftly through his veins. He closed his eyes and held on to the images of her. Images that came so easily, for she was as much a part of him as his own blood. She walked down the stairs of their home, holding Sami in her arms. His wife. His baby. His beautiful ladies. He would not let them go. In the church, the candles flickering, the smell of incense in the air. He took her hand and stared into those golden eyes as he slipped his ring on her finger and claimed her before both God and man. The way she wrapped herself around him when they made love, all silk and satin and his. Wanting him. Calling out for him. Accepting him. He would never let her go. Never.   
  
"What's your name?" the dark angel whispered in his ear.   
  
"Fuck you."   
  
Thick hands shoved his head back until he could feel the strain in his neck. Fingers dug at his eyelids and Stefano's smiling face hovered above him.   
  
"What's your name?" Dimera demanded, insistent and expecting.   
  
"Roman Augustus Brady! My name is Roman Augustus Brady, you son of a bitch!"   
  
White pain exploded against the side of his face, the force of the blow jarring his teeth.   
  
"Wrong answer," Stefano snarled, furious that the man would fight him on this. This was not how things should be.   
  
Roman stared up into the black eyes of his tormentor, hating with ever fiber of his being. The drugs twisted through his mind, ugly thoughts and ugly feelings that fed the lurking fury. His lips curved in a hunter's grin. "I won't forget her, Dimera. You can't make me. Not this time. I won't let you take her away from me. I'll die before I let her go."   
  
With a rough shake, Stefano released his grip and backed away from the chair. Claiming another needle, he stood before his prisoner and slowly filled the syringe with amber fluid. His eyes never left Roman's face as he slid the needle home and released the drugs. Almost immediately, the body beneath him began to spasm and a low moan forced its way from between clenched teeth. Stefano reached out and stroked his fingers across the dark bruise that now marred the man's cheek. "Your death is not an option, John. But if you fight me on this, I will hurt you. I don't want to have to hurt you, you should know that by now."   
  
His thoughts were jumbled, the images of her dancing just out of reach. Still, he managed a dry croak of a laugh at Dimera's words. The old man had lost it, lost whatever tenuous grasp he had held on sanity. He closed his eyes and prayed to God that he would not join Stefano in the madness.   
  
_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear...   
_   
_I shall fear...   
_   
_I shall fear..._   
  
The words of the prayer refused to come to him and his last coherent thought was that there were some places even God refused to go.   


****************************************   
  


He awoke gaging once again- this shit was getting old. The dank smell of rot and decay struck at him from out of the darkness. His thoughts were fractured chaos, and none of the images were good.   
  
_He takes the front stairs three at a time and doesn't bother to slow down when he reaches the front door. Dropping his shoulder, he rams his way through, the lock splintering beneath his weight. Stumbling to a halt, he searches for some sign that he is not too late.   
_   
"_Stefano?! Stefano, god damn it! Where are you?!" The elegant foyer stares back at him in silence and he feels like an intruder. The old man is here, he has to be here. More importantly, she is with him. Shit, he's going to be too late!   
_   
_The bedroom is on the second floor and he draws his gun as he pounds up the staircase. They will be there. They have to be there.   
_   
_Through the door and into the center of the room in less time than it takes to think the thought. Dimera's heavy bulk holds her down on the big bed, but he sees the flash of blond hair even in the dim light. Blond hair, the ivory skin of a shapely leg, the silvery glint of a knife...   
_   
_He is snake quick, and it's still all he can do to beat the knife as it falls toward unprotected flesh. Too late, too late, too late.... His fingers latch onto the wrist an instance before blood is drawn. A prisoner- they need information, they need to interrogate, they need.... Fuck 'they'- he needs the kill and hate overpowers reason. Muscles knot and his foe is yanked from the bed, air driven from lungs as the wall stops the body's flight. Stunned eyes look up at him and he allows himself a smile as he pulls the trigger- once, twice, third time the charm. The limp form slumps to the floor and he steps forward, puts the barrel of his gun to the temple, and blows away the back of the skull.   
_   
_For a long moment, all is silent. Finally, he breathes out a deep sigh and realizes he should feel at least a twinge of guilt, a hint of remorse. He doesn't. "Are you okay?" he asks gruffly.   
_   
"_I will be, once you tell me what just happened."   
_   
_With a rueful shake of his head, he finally turns to face the bed. "She was an assassin. We just discovered it. Damn! I thought I was going to be too late!"   
_   
_Dimera levers himself from the bed, shrugging on his shirt. "Your timing did show a flair for the dramatic, but I suppose I can forgive you this once," he comments, walking slowly over to stand beside the body of the once beautiful woman.   
_   
"_I should have been more cautious, more suspicious. Sorry, sir. It's just...."   
_   
"_It's just, she was a woman," Stefano finishes for him, glancing up to shoot the younger man a bemused look. "I'm surprised you killed her. I didn't think you had it in you to kill a woman, John."   
_   
_The youthful face hardens, suddenly looking much older than its years. "The little bitch was trying to off you, Stefano. She's just lucky I did her quick."   
_   
_Deep laughter rings out. "Boy, sometimes you scare even me. The gods must have been very angry on the day they made you."   
_   
_A flash of pride and he gives the old man a tight grin. "God had nothing to do with it."_   
  
Someone was screaming, over and over again. The sounds tore at his ears until he prayed that they would stop. His voice finally gave out and he closed his eyes on the surrounding blackness, grateful for the silence. Concentrating hard, it was all he could do to master the simple act of breathing. Get your shit together, Brady. Now was not the time to go insane.   
  
His heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm and he searched his mind for some hint of where he was. The thoughts came grudgingly, forcing themselves through drug-laden synapses. A prisoner. He was once again a prisoner. Dimera was here. He was doing it again.   
  
He could feel the knife in his hand, the warm blood coating his fingers. The knife felt so good, so right. The knife wasn't real. Drugs. Just the drugs, Roman. Probably something similar to the ones used the last time. The last time he lost himself. He wouldn't do that again. White light flickered in the corner of his eye- the glint of the knife. He turned his head and it was gone. The shadows told him lies, he knew that. But in the darkness, all he could see were the shadows. If he ignored it, maybe it would all go away. He would make it go away. His eyes blinked slowly, methodically. The darkness was still there, but the visions weren't. The drugs couldn't last forever, he just had to be a little bit stronger than they were.   
  
The guards would be back. They'd probably be back soon. They'd bring him needles filled with golden fluid and they'd beat him down when he tried to resist. He would resist. He would always resist. Eventually, he would win.   
  
He had to get his bearings, had to know which way to run when his chance finally came. Staring into the darkness, he waited for his eyes to adjust. Just a hint of light, that's all he asked, but all around him was the dark. He used to love the dark. He used to live there. The dark places...   
  
His thoughts skittered away from the dark places as a moan leaked from his throat, low and foreign. It told him of the pain, the dead weight that used to be his arms. Numbed fingers refused to work, and his shoulders cramped in protest as he tugged at the chains that linked his hands behind his back. He struggled to sit up and the agony streaked through the muscles of his chest and neck. Ignoring the pain, he focused on finding the light.   
  
The air higher up in the room was even more muggy and hard to breathe, the heat more oppressive than it had been in the bayou. Distantly, he wondered if he was still within the U.S., knew that he wasn't. The clank of a lock, and his head jerked down in response to the blinding glare of lights. Too soon. Way too soon. He tried to curl his fingers into fists, couldn't tell if he succeeded or not. It didn't matter one way or another, merely a matter of pride. Then again, sometimes pride was all a man had.   
  
Dark shapes coming at him. Lots of dark shapes. His lips smiled and he heard the sound of giggling laughter. The sound was evil, but he couldn't stop it. Let the dark shapes come. He was going to kill them. He was going to enjoy it.   
  
A boot smashed him in the belly, doubling him over. No air left to breathe and he rested his head against the damp earthen floor. The boot again, it pressed him down, grinding against his spine. The click of the lock was the only hint of his release, the nerves still unwilling to serve him. With a sudden jerk he was yanked to his feet. A guard at each arm, the man in front of him snapping the steel cuff closed before his freedom was ever recognized. A grunt of effort behind him- four men. At least four men. His vision began to clear and he lunged out with his left foot, only to find his feet manacled together with a short length of chain to limit his movements. The guards were taking no chances, the cost of making a mistake more than they were willing to pay.   
  
Roman's breath quickened, the panic rising with each raw gasp. His jaw knotted in an effort to keep the grin from his face, the laughter from his thoughts. A sudden jerk and his arms were nearly ripped from their sockets as he was hoisted into the air by his wrists. After being bound behind his back for so long, his arms spasmed as they took the full weight of his body. The lean form convulsed as a scream ripped from his lips. Aching for the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness, he felt the rage tear through his mind like white fire. His head arched back, the tendons in his neck straining to be free. With an ungodly howl, he gave himself over to the hate.   
  
His body was a meaningless mass of nerve endings that his mind ordered to act. Even as his cry echoed through the dank cell, he heaved his body higher into the air, using his protesting arms as a lever. Long legs snaked out, the length of chain binding his ankles slipping around the throat of the nearest guard. No thought of escape, of pain, of mercy. No thought at all. Only death and the need to make it happen. The muscles in his shoulders cracked with the strain, the blows of the remaining guards falling on his unprotected back. His smile bared his teeth, an animal about to feed. A low snarl and his captured prey left the ground, face turning purple, eyes bulging from the sockets. With a final grinding of muscle, the delicate bones of the neck snapped, the guard going cold and dead. The bloodlust sang triumphantly as his tortured body collapsed, oblivion finally achieved.   
  


****************************************   
  


In a darkened room down a darkened hall, a shadowed figure settled comfortably back in an antique leather desk chair. Lighting a Cuban cigar that was as thick as his thumb, he stared thoughtfully at the rising curls of smoke. Inevitably, his gaze was drawn back to the video monitor and the images of the remaining guards beating the apparently lifeless body as it jerked at the end of the chain. Stefano Dimera, the unchallenged king of the criminal underworld, flashed a grin that was almost paternal.   
  
He had thought that time might have tainted his memories, made a legend out of what was merely a man. He had been wrong. John Black was everything he had remembered and more. The man was a weapon, as deadly as a gun and just as willing to kill. Such a weapon was far too rare to waste. With the push of a button, Dimera sent a message to the guards to stop the beating. Their fear and anger might lead them to do irreparable harm to the prisoner, despite their orders to the contrary. His eyes remained locked on the monitor, searching for some sign of life as the beating came to a halt. The guards gathered their downed comrade, keeping warily beyond the reach of the gently swaying body. Just before the door to the cell was pulled closed, shutting out the last ray of light, Stefano caught a hint of movement, a flash of electric blue. As all light died and the monitor went black, the battered man raised his head and laughed.   
  
Chapter 7   
  
"I see your father's been here. He always brings you white roses, doesn't he?" Kneeling down, Marlena brushed a finger across the delicate velvet of one fragile petal before setting a small bouquet of marigolds beside their more regal brethren.   
  
"I thought you might like these for a change. The color always reminds me of the coming of summer- bright and fresh and new." Settling down on the cool grass, Marlena crossed her legs in front of her and gazed up at the clear blue skies. "Guess you know why I'm here, Isabella. It's the same reason as usual. I'm worried about him. Of course, Lord knows I'm almost always worried about him- you know what he's like. But this time.... He's lying to me, Isabella. He went down to New Orleans. It's the first time he's been gone from me since I came back to Salem. He left and he was lying. He only does that when he thinks the truth will frighten me. Well, that and when he's planning one of his 'surprises'."   
  
"It's been three days and he hasn't called. Bo can't meet my eyes. Even Abe looks guilty and Abe never looks guilty! It's been too long, you know. It's like, it's like I've lost him and nobody wants to tell me the horrible truth. They gaze at me with these sad puppy dog eyes and talk about the weather!" She gave an angry snort and brushed at the tears that crept to the corners of her eyes. "I can't lose him, Isabella. I can't. You know....   
  
"Damn! He is so stubborn!" Her hand trembled as she wiped away an escaped tear and she shook her head as if to banish unwanted thoughts.   
  
"I'm sorry," she finally muttered. "I'm just... worried. He always keeps things bottled up. Some things, he just refuses to face. I think that's why he never comes here. I know he did love you. In his own way, in the only way he knew how at the time, he did love you. But not once since the funeral.... I asked him one time- why he never comes with me to see you. He just said, 'Sometimes it's best to let the dead stay buried.' He wouldn't talk about it more than that. He's never talked about what happened when I was gone. A little about you, about the kids, but nothing about what he thought, what he felt. He shut that part of himself away behind a locked door like he's afraid of what will happen if I see inside. He's doing it again now, Isabella. He doesn't want me to know about New Orleans. He doesn't want anybody to know- and that frightens me."   
She rolled her eyes and plucked at a blade of grass, thinking of her husband and listening to the wind. Looking down at the polished marble, she reached out and traced the chiseled words with her fingertip. "I know it's not fair of me to ask you to look after him. None of what happened to you was ever fair. It wasn't fair when I came back after all those years. It wasn't fair when Roman let you go and turned to me. It wasn't fair when the cancer took you, so quick and so young. We tried to be there for you, Roman and I. We tried. But- it still wasn't fair." Marlena sighed softly, the memories still painful after all of the years.   
  
"I've always kind of thought that it wasn't really the cancer that took you. I think your heart just decided it didn't want to beat any more. I couldn't live without him- and now I know that you couldn't either. If I could change one thing in my life, it would be the hurt you felt because I came home. I can't regret being with him- but for the fact that it hurt you, I will always be sorry. But Isabella, there is one thing we have always held in common. One thing that has always bonded us. We both love him, Isabella. I'm asking you to be with him right now, because I'm not and I know that he can't be alone. Whatever it is he's facing, he can't be alone."   
  
Clenching her fists in her lap, Marlena closed her eyes and whispered her prayer to the wind. "Lord, be with him. Please."   
  


****************************************   
  


He was smothering. What air he could draw into his lungs burned, and red fire danced before his eyes. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only grasp onto memories and try and keep his sanity as he felt his brain imploding under the onslaught of powerful psychotropic drugs. "Doc," he whispered in his mind, hardly aware the sound had also escaped his parched lips. "God, Doc, I need you," he thought, as he found himself once more immersed in a red haze of confusion, anger and pain.   
  
_Pain. So much pain, it seems to clot the very air he breathes. The skinning knife in his hand drips fresh blood onto the expensive Turkish rug beneath his feet and he smiles a feral grin as his heightened senses pick up the soft sound of the impact. He stands unmoving, seeking some hint of resistence, some sign of threat. There is nothing- no one left to get in his way. On catlike feet he creeps up the spiraling staircase, ignoring the mad glee that urges him to hurry. No need for haste, no cause for worry. He has a message to send, and that message will not be rushed. He has all the time in the world- when he leaves this house, there will be no life left in it.   
_   
_The door swings open without a sound and he stalks slowly through the darkened room. The moon shines strong and bright, gauzy curtains doing little to filter out the light. He slips through the shadows, a darker shade of gray.   
_   
_Aware. He is aware of everything- the gentle rise and fall of the sleeping man's chest, the salty smell of the sea, the drapes flapping on the night's breeze. He glides to a halt beside the four-poster bed and feels a chill run down his spine, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. Oh sweet Jesus, he can see the pulse of veins in that vulnerable neck.   
_   
_The man beneath his gaze sleeps the sleep of the innocent, no hint of his betrayal in the out flung limbs, the gentle snores. Only a fool would double-cross Dimera and have no fear of the consequences. Foolish men deserved to die foolish deaths. His knife drifts out, hovers above the throbbing throat. He makes the moment last, the burning need for this building in the back of his head until he thinks his brain will explode. He can wait no longer, his free hand clamping down over the man's mouth. A brief hesitation, a duty yet to be done- "Stefano Dimera sent me for you." The whispered words twist in the breeze and the knife slides through the skin as if it were silk.   
_   
_Blood, everywhere. It covers his arms, makes the knife slippery in his grasp. The sickly sweet smell blots out the call of the sea as he kneels in the center of the bed, a priest making sacrifice, a surgeon cutting out a malignancy. He hums a pop tune beneath his breath, realizes he is doing it, wonders briefly if it is a sign he is insane. With a grunt, he saws through the last flap of skin connecting head to body, decides he is simply very good at his job. Looking deep into the still staring eyes of the dead man, he can't help a small smile, a word of advice delivered just a bit too late. "Mess with the bull, boy, and you get the horns." Tangling blood-sticky hands into the short hair, he slips from the bed and heads for home with his trophy. He has most definitely earned his keep tonight._   
  
Oh God, no. Please, no....   
  
_Hail Mary, full of grace._   
  
The shadows lied. The shadows always lied.   
  
_Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb._   
  
The knife was not real. The knife was never real.   
  
_Holy Mary, mother of God._   
  
He was never there. He had never been there. He would never go there.   
  
_Pray for us sinners...._   
  
"Fuck you, you son of a bitch!" Sweat streaked his face, stung his eyes. He bucked against the restraints from which he hung, the hard metal cutting through his flesh. Flesh was nothing. Blood was nothing. Only the fear was real. Only the fear. Only the rage.   
  
_Please, God....   
_   
The fear overwhelmed him. He tried not to see, tried not to know. He tried hard. He failed. The blood and the pain, they colored his visions but weren't his to own. The blood and the pain were his legacy and he had bestowed his gifts with the generosity of a god.   
  
_No...._   
  
The boiling rage once again engulfed his mind and he screamed into the blackness. He fought the unseen demons until the guards crept cautiously into the room. The kiss of a needle, the sweet heat of chemicals, and the darkness called him down into the depths once again.   
  
They left him hogtied in the center of the dirt floor. Stefano Dimera had made it painfully clear- this man was far too valuable to be allowed to die.   
  


****************************************   
  


"It's not working," Stefano said, flipping off the video monitor and moving to pour himself a stiff drink. The sight of the twitching body that lay in the center of the stone cell was something no amount of whiskey was likely to wash away, but at the moment he was willing to try.   
  
"It is working just as I told you it would. That's the problem," Sarte drawled, turning from the open window to address his boss.   
  
"It's killing him, Sarte! You don't need to be a doctor to see it," Dimera snapped.   
  
Dr. Emanuel Sarte, personal physician and general Frankenstein for the Dimera cartel batted his wiry gray hair from his eyes and frowned irritably. "The drugs aren't what's killing him. The drugs are doing their job. He's remembering everything, just as I told you he would. My God, you don't really think 'Roman Brady' could have inflicted the damage saw earlier? That was the work of an animal, Stefano. Your animal, to be specific. The drugs aren't killing him- the memories are. He's too dangerous to play with this way. If you keep this up, your going to end up with a raving psychotic on your hands. I told you years ago he was too unstable to experiment with drugs. You should have listened to me then!"   
  
"He was virtually suicidal at the time, you know that. You also agreed that the drugs were the best course of action. Don't you dare try to weasel out of your responsibility for this mess," Stefano hissed, his patience at a breaking point.   
  
Sarte had always had problems with authority, but he had more problems with the thought of being dead. Recognizing the fine line he was walking, he nodded in resignation. "I know. I know. There was nothing else we could have done at the time. The problem is, I'm not sure what we can do now. He can't keep this up, not for much longer. He's tearing himself apart."   
  
"What if we increase the dosage? Lock him in a padded room and keep him under until he has no choice but to believe?"   
  
Sarte shrugged noncommitally. "Well, that would keep him from killing any more guards. I mean, he'd be comatose, he couldn't be much danger to himself or to anybody else. Of course, if he ever regained consciousness, he'd have lost all touch with reality. I'm not sure what use he would be to you. Maybe you could drop him off in a fast food parking lot and watch as he slaughters all of the Happy Meal eaters. Ugly. It would most definitely be ugly."   
  
"Sarte, you aren't valuable enough to me to be such a smart ass."   
  
"I tell you the truth, even when you don't want to hear it. That makes me valuable," Sarte replied with more confidence than he felt. "Stefano, you are trying to tame a rabid dog by poking it with a stick. So far, all you've managed to do is piss it off. It will not end well, I can promise you."   
  
Sinking into his chair, Dimera rubbed at his temples, grimacing in frustration. "What if we stop the drugs? Give his mind some time to clear?"   
  
"I don't know. I've told you before, it's not the drugs that wiped his memory the first time and it's not the drugs that are killing him now. His thinking processes have always been a little- bent. He's unpredictable and he always has been. Right now, every time the drugs start to wear off he starts to fight. He's strong enough and stubborn enough that he'll manage to kill himself if we let him. Stefano, if you went in to talk to him, I doubt he'd even hear you. If you take him off the drugs, he could die before you manage to get through to him. You freed too many memories to hope to bring him back to a rational state. Those memories are killing 'Roman Brady', but John may choose to die rather than lose that piece of himself."   
  
"It's not his choice to make," Stefano stated coldly.   
  
"You may not be able to control this situation, Stefano. You do understand you aren't God- don't you?"   
  
"I'm the closest thing to God you are ever likely to see." Flashing Sarte an ugly look, he steepled his fingers and looked into the distance. Inspiration taunted him from the corner of his eye and he concentrated hard in an effort to unravel the pattern. "What you are telling me is that John needs something to ground him. Something to keep the memories from overwhelming him. Give him time to digest things. Am I correct?"   
  
"Theoretically. But I'll state for the record, I don't think he's likely to come back. He's lost somewhere in his own past and that's a very ugly place to be. The kindest thing to do would be to give him enough morphine, let him go peacefully. You owe the boy that much."   
  
"I owe him nothing, Sarte. If there are debts to be paid, they aren't due from me. Now get out of my office and don't come back until you have something useful to say. I have arrangements to make." Waving a negligent hand, Stefano turned his attention to an open file before him.   
  
Stopping in the doorway, Sarte turned and risked one last comment. "It's been 15 years, Stefano. It's been too long. You aren't going to get through to him this time."   
  
Looking up, Dimera's eyes twinkled with a dark secret. "He may not come back for me, Sarte- but he will come back for her."   
  
Chapter 8   
  
Dr. Marlena Evans-Brady was pissed, there was no other way of putting it. Mad, angry, irate- no other word could sum it up quite as well as 'pissed'. It had been five days and the only word from Roman they had heard were the platitudes from the New Orleans P.D. assuring them that he was fine. Marlena was pissed and now she was going to do something about it.   
  
She rested her chin in her hands and stared at the case files before her. She was stalling and she knew it- but opening these files took more courage than she currently had. Her finger trailed across the name on the top file- 'John Black'. She knew every word in the thin manilla folder. She had, after all, been the author. Still, to open the file was to open her memories- and not all of those memories were good ones.   
  
Of the other two files, one she shouldn't have had access to and the other she shouldn't have known she needed. Marlena had Bo to thank for both files. Roman's little brother was no better at lying than he was. Bo had cracked like a walnut when she had cornered him at the pub and demanded to know what was happening with her husband. She understood now why Roman hadn't wanted to tell her the truth about New Orleans. She would have never let him go if he had.   
  
Dimera. Stefano Dimera. She had managed not to think about him at all over the past few years. At least, she had managed to pretend not to think about him. Her jaw clenched and she slid the file with Dimera's name on it away from her, it's very existence distasteful.   
  
The third file. The last file. Roman Brady's file. With a certain sense of foreboding, she realized that this was the file she knew least about. She had written the file on John Black. She had lived many of the events depicted in Dimera's file. But the file on Roman Brady.... Police department psychiatric notes were sealed. No one had access to them- not the mayor, not the IAD, not the chief of police- no one. Not unless they were very sneaky. Luckily, Bo Brady was very sneaky. It hadn't been hard to guilt him in to 'borrowing' Roman's file.   
  
Three files. Three keys. She simply needed to decide if she really wanted to unlock the past. Now she was lying to herself. The past was something she had no interest in. The future was what mattered- her family's future. But the past was intruding on that future, endangering it in ways she could not explain. Before she could change her mind, the first file was already open.   
  
_November 7, 1985   
__Patient Name: John Doe   
__White male; approximate age mid-20s   
_   
_Patient was admitted by police officers. Patient was only semi-coherent, there were signs of recent injuries and concerns he was suffering from dehydration and exposure. As the psychiatrist on call, I was brought in due to the extreme anxiety displayed by the patient and his refusal to communicate with the hospital staff.   
_   
_Contact was too brief to form an assessment. Though the patient seemed defensive with other staff members, refusing to allow an examination or the removal of the bandages that covered his face, he was receptive to my intervention. Given his response to hospital personnel, I had expected the bandages to conceal a disfigurement of some type- that was not the case. However, the patient left the hospital without permission almost immediately after the bandages were removed- I did not have time to develop a rapor with him. There is currently insufficient information on which to make a judgement regarding this client. I have asked to be notified immediately if the patient is readmitted. He was somehow- intriguing.   
_   
Short and to the point- and woefully inadequate when it came to describing her feelings at the time. Then again, perhaps 'intriguing' was the best way to have summarized it. She flipped past the admission sheet, plunging deeper into the past.   
  
A handwritten note- random musings to herself over the new head of security. She wondered briefly why she had included it in the file.   
  
_John Black has to be the most irritating man ever born! If he tries to give me orders one more time, I swear I will tell him exactly where to put that hospital sign-in sheet. Why the Hospital had to hire him as the head of security, I will never understand. The man is abrasive. He's secretive. He is ALWAYS watching me- I wouldn't be surprised if he put security cameras in the lady's restroom! He can't fool me, though. The man is most definitely hiding something. There are secrets lurking behind those blue eyes of his- my instincts are never wrong when it comes to secrets. When he was first admitted as a 'John Doe'- with those bandages all over his face and jerking like a frightened rabbit every time someone went to touch him- well, he didn't look like some 'old pro security expert' then. If I could just get that man on my couch for 5 minutes.....   
_   
Marlena's laughter bubbled up and she wondered if she had realized the implications of the 'couch' comment when she had written the note. Probably not. 'John Black' had had the rare ability to drive her from rational thought with his mere presence. She would have discovered his secrets much sooner if all of her energies hadn't been focused on catching a glimpse of him strolling the hospital corridors in those tight jeans he used to wear. Of course, John had done his fair share of looking too. Still smiling, she rifled through the pages, stopping when she reached the first set of session notes.   
  
_November 8, 1986   
__Patient name: John Black   
_   
_Pre-session notes:   
__He finally told me his secrets. To be more accurate, he confirmed my guess. John Black is an alias. A created identity meant to fool the men who are chasing him. I suspect it was also created to give him a sense of self. Every human being needs that- needs to know who they are and where they belong. Aside from a few shattered fragments, John has no such identity of his own. Finally, he has agreed to let me help him piece together the images in his mind, to hopefully dig up new images to complete the picture. This first session, I plan to induce a light hypnotic state. If nothing else, we need to make sense of the few memories he does have.   
  
Session summary:   
__It should not have been dangerous. I've put hundreds of patients under, and never have I seen a reaction such as the one I saw today. A few cases I've read about- torture, brainwashing, repressed memories- but I've never personally seen it. The sessions need to stop. I need to be more certain of what I'm doing. He needs to be more grounded. He wants to continue- but I think it's too risky. It could be dangerous. I'm afraid 'he' might be dangerous.   
_   
_The session started routinely. John was a little nervous, but I've noticed he tends to be a little nervous around me. He went under easily enough. He's either very susceptible to hypnosis or he's done it before. The images came quickly, though there was little he didn't already know. It's disturbing somehow- to watch a man I met a few short weeks ago talk about me, my friends, my family. He talks about the intimate details rather than the big picture. He knows my favorite color, my favorite flower, my favorite song. It would be kind of sweet if it weren't for the other things he knows. He knows Dimera's hideouts, the places he did his dirty work. He knows the cases Roman used to work and the men who grew to hate him for it. He knows where money is hidden- or at least, he knows that he should know. He knows how to pick a lock and field strip a rifle- and he knows he's done both things many times before. He remembers nothing clearly, yet he knows too much, and I'm not sure why. But all of those memories, they are on the surface. They shouldn't be on the surface. They are too scattered, too disparate, too fragmented to be surface memories. There is no coherence to them. It's as if someone took all of his thoughts, chopped them up into tiny unrelated pieces, and then drew out a random few that he would be allowed to keep. None of it makes any sense. The only thing that is certain is that all of the memories seem to touch on me in some way.   
_   
_The memories were disquieting, but the danger didn't arise until I tried to push below the surface and make him look into the dark places in his mind. He didn't want to go there and I shouldn't have pushed him. If I had known....   
_   
_The change was sudden. I walked him back through his thoughts until he reached the door to the hidden memories. He seemed afraid to touch the door, and I don't think I've seen him afraid before. But I told him to open the door and he did. He had reason to be afraid. I tried to bring him out of it. The moment he opened the door, I knew something was wrong and I tried to bring him back. His entire body contracted, one big knot of muscle. His breathing was strained, and I believe the danger of a heart attack was real. I did the only thing I could- I slapped him hard across the face. Three times I had to hit him before he responded and when he did.... I don't think I was afraid of him, I'm not certain I could be afraid of him. But when he grabbed my arm, I thought he was going to break it.   
_   
_He doesn't remember any of it, not once we tried to go below the surface memories. He wasn't even aware that he had grabbed my arm. I didn't tell him, he's already hesitant about letting me help him. He wants to try again. I told him it was too soon, though I'm not sure how long that will hold him off. I'll have to study the journals, see if I can find another case like this one. I need time to think before I decide what to do next. I'm tempted to tell him it might be for the best if he stopped trying to remember. He's stubborn, though. I doubt he would listen. He seems almost driven to find out about his past. I know that he's worried that people are after him. He needs to know who he is if he's going to protect himself. There's more to it than that, though. I think he believes he needs to control the memories so that they don't control him. I think he may be right._   
  
They had both been right. Through the glory of hindsight, she knew that there had been no other choice but to pursue the memories, to follow where they led. Back then, the path had not been nearly so clear. The closer they had come to discovering the truth, the less certain she had been that she wanted to. Marlena's eyes skimmed down the pages of the file, seeing how the words had become more hesitant, the reports more brief. She had started to believe that John was really Stefano. She had started to believe in the possibility long before they had fled into the mountains of West Virginia and she had seen the tatoo that marked him. Her old reports were rife with unfinished statements and undrawn conclusions. If she had allowed her pen to complete its work, the words would have been undeniable. By denying the words, she had tried to deny the truth she had feared.   
  
Marlena shook her head, impressed with her own ability to delude herself. But in the end, even that had failed her. The last notation in the file was hurried, the words jotted down as if she had been in a rush. Perhaps it was her panic that had forced her to complete this one last report, for to Marlena's trained eye, it looked less like a set of session notes and more like a prayer.   
  
_November 12, 1988   
__John Black   
_   
_He's close to the breaking point. Too close to stop now. He says he has to go and there is no way I can let him go alone. He's volatile. Explosive. If he were threatened, if he thought he was in danger.... He might be capable of violence. I know he's capable of it. The other day in the nurses' lounge, something snapped. I walked in just as he smashed the glass. I could see the pain on his face, the aftermath of the memories that had visited just moments before. I didn't like the look on his face. I didn't like the way he held those shards of glass. I can't let him leave like this. Not alone.   
_   
_The doctor who performed the plastic surgery will meet us in West Virginia. We'll find the answers to John's past there. If he finds out he's really Dimera.... It doesn't matter who he is. I owe it to him to be there. I owe it to myself.   
_   
At the very end of the file, tucked in almost as an afterthought, was a picture. The picture. She suddenly found it curious that the file should end with that- as if all of the problems in their lives had been solved and 'happily ever after' was at hand. Nothing could have been further from the truth, yet the file had nothing more to offer. Roman had never regained all of his memories. She doubted he had regained most of them. For years, she had known he pretended that he remembered more than he really did. When some old friend would say 'hi', when Caroline would ask if he remembered how happy they were on some holiday, when Abe would refer to an old bust- all the times he would nod and smile and mutter agreement, she alone had seen the truth. But after West Virginia, Roman had never come to her. He had never tried to regain his own memories, content to fill in the gaps with remembrances that had belonged to others. She had let him do so. She had been glad. Had she been afraid to press her luck, to risk her perfect happy ending? She stared down at the picture in her hand and wondered if she was risking it now.   
  
The picture was of a handsome young man with laughing blue eyes. Thick brown hair worn a little too long curled about his face and added to his image as a prankster. So young. So long ago. So very different than he was now. Marlena had almost forgotten the physical differences. Stefano must have paid a small fortune in order to change Roman's face. He had gotten his money's worth- no one would have seen 'Roman Brady' in the guise of her mysterious 'John Black'. The entire structure of Roman's face was different now. The cheekbones were higher, the nose aquiline. Even his hair seemed darker than it had been. Of all of the changes, though, it was the eyes she noticed most. John Black's eyes had been colder, harder, darker- and John Black's eyes hadn't laughed. Not until the day she had found this picture, the day she had told him the truth of who he was, had his eyes truly laughed. A chill ran down her spine and she wondered what Stefano must have done to drive the warmth from a man's eyes.   
  
Her anger flared and she slammed the file shut, the bad memories suddenly outweighing the good. Avoiding Dimera's folder, she flipped open the psychiatric file from the Salem P.D. The first few pages were from Roman's entrance exam, required of all incoming cadets. The tension eased and she found herself smiling, confronted with the fact that her husband had not always been such a complex man. _Honest; intelligent; persistent; a strong sense of duty and loyalty; out-going; linear thought patterns; strong leadership skills...._ Seeing the words in black and white, Roman sounded like the original boy scout. It was amazing how misleading words could be. She chuckled aloud, even as she substituted 'blunt' for 'honest'; 'conniving' for 'intelligent'; 'stubborn' for 'persistent'. All of the traits that had made him such a good cop had nearly driven her crazy when they had first met. The way he had simply insinuated himself into her life and refused to leave, no matter how many times she had insisted she could take care of herself! If he hadn't been so darn cute, she might have strangled him. He had also been the best thing that ever happened to her.   
  
She paused when she came to the fitness report concerning his return to active duty. Given the gaps in his memory and his missing year, the department had insisted on the evaluation. Roman had been too good a cop to lose, but too many things had happened to him for the department not to have been leery. She skimmed down the page, struggling to identify why the test results seemed 'off'. Granted, there were differences in Roman's profile after his return- but that was to be expected. The test revealed a personality ideally suited to police work and well within the norms of the general population. So why were alarm bells going off in her head? It was in the general summary that she found the answer to her question.   
  
_Summary   
_   
_Based on the objective test scores and the interview with the client, I recommend full reinstatement to the police force. The subject's readjustment to his return is nothing short of remarkable, especially given the loss of memory and the trauma that caused it. Though the subject was somewhat reticent in his interview, he answered all questions calmly and completely. His responses to my questions revealed no underlying emotion trauma, nor did it reveal in any identity issues as might have been expected given the circumstances. The MACCP test supports this conclusion. The respondent's results are text book.   
_   
Text book. Roman's psychiatric profile was text book. It was too text book- no one was as 'normal' as the test showed Roman to be. It was as if he had given the answers he knew would be expected, no more and no less. After all he had been through, Roman Brady should have been anything but 'text book'.   
  
Uneasily, Marlena continued her study of the file. She had the feeling that she was spying on him, betraying him in some way she didn't realize. The feeling deepened, and she pulled out a sheet of paper from the time she had been gone. This was a version of Roman she hadn't known- a version he had refused to share. Now she saw why.   
  
_Required psychiatric exam (Departmentally mandated) 1988   
__Post-shooting review   
_   
_Incident summary: Subject was involved in an on-duty shooting. After a short foot pursuit, officer shot and killed a robbery suspect. Suspect was shot 4 times at a range of approximately 40 feet. Suspect was DOA. Two shots were fired by the suspect, the officer was uninjured. Witnesses support officer's contention that the suspect turned and raised his gun prior to the officer opening fire. **Note- shooting has been cleared by the department.   
_   
_Interview summary: Subject is currently dealing with the emotional aftereffects of the shooting by repressing his responses. Though willing to discuss the events of the shooting, he has so far avoided any emotional reaction. This is a fairly typical response, and not unusual in officer-involved shootings. When asked how he feels about the shooting, subject focuses on the legality of his actions rather than on moral issues. His only concern appears to be that it 'Was a good shoot'. What is less typical in this particular response pattern is the subject's failure to be in any way defensive concerning his actions. Most officers who focus on the necessity of the shooting appear to be trying to convince themselves as much as they are trying to convince me. This officer evidences no such need and appears indifferent to the incident beyond the actual facts of the case. No doubt, the emotions evoked by the shooting will come to the fore with the passage of time. I recommend but do not require further counseling when this occurs. Based on the interview, I have certified the officer fit for duty.   
_   
Marlena grimaced at the brevity of the report. Roman hadn't wanted to talk about the shooting and the department had been willing to leave it at that. Of course, this had always been the standard response. Until very recently, police departments had been notorious for their failure to recognize the psychological costs that came with being a police officer. Knowing Roman, she could well imagine that getting him to discuss his 'feelings' with a stranger would have been next to impossible. Discarding the report as largely useless, she returned her attention to the file.   
  
_Required psychiatric exam (Departmentally mandated) 1989   
__Post-shooting review   
Incident summary: Subject was involved in an on-duty shooting. Officer was serving as a sniper with the SWAT team. SWAT was deployed in response to a hostage situation resulting from a domestic disturbance. The suspect had opened fire after police responded to reports of a woman screaming. Suspect held a gun to his girlfriend's head and demanded his release. When officers refused to vacate the area, the suspect cocked his revolver. At that point, the subject of this interview opened fire, killing the suspect with a single shot to the head. No other injuries occurred. **Note- officer on leave pending departmental investigation. **Note2- shooting has been cleared by department. _   
  
_Interview summary: The subject currently shows little emotional response to the shooting incident. This is not unusual, especially among snipers- an outgrowth no doubt of their training. This case is atypical in that it is the second shooting the officer has been involved in in less than a year. However, the justifications in both cases seem clear-cut. It is unlikely that the shootings occurred due to overzealousness on the part of the officer. The response to this shooting mirrors the response to the first shooting incident- he is detached and concerned only with the legality of his actions. Any feelings he has on the matter are buried too deeply to be drawn out in a single interview. What is surprising is the officer's complete dismissal of the first shooting. Given the amount of time since that shooting took place, I expected him to express either anger or remorse- if not for the shooting itself then for its necessity. As before, the officer evidenced a complete emotional detachment. I'm not certain he even remembered the incident when I first brought it up. Such a psychic break with the consequences of his actions is alarming. However, all reports indicate that the officer's abilities have been in no way impaired by either of the two shooting incidents. It may simply be that the subject has not developed a bond of trust with me as a counselor and thus refuses to discuss the emotional impact the incidents have had on him. I am recommending continuing counseling, but I am not mandating it, as the officer shows no behavioral manifestations of a problem. Based on the interview, I have certified the officer fit for duty.   
_   
Two shootings in two years. Marlena knew that most officers spent their entire careers without ever firing their weapons outside of the practice range. Roman had repeatedly told her that being a cop was more about paperwork and pulling cats out of trees than it was about shooting people. Of course, her husband had always had a nose for trouble- but two shootings in two years.... She flipped to the next page in the file and tried to be surprised by what she found.   
  
_Required psychiatric exam (Departmentally mandated) 1990   
__Post-shooting review   
_   
_Incident summary: __Shootings occurred during an undercover investigation into organized crime. As part of a special task force, officer had been operating under deep cover for over 3 months at the time of the shooting. Officer was not wearing a wire nor was backup on-scene. According to the officer's statements, he was acting as a bodyguard for a mid-level drug trafficker. In that capacity, he was present at a meeting with the man in charge of all drug distribution in the city. During this meeting, the two participants became suspicious of the officer. According to the officer, the two suspects attempted to draw their weapons at which time he opened fire. Both men were killed, suffering from multiple gunshots at close range. No other shots were fired, though responding officers found handguns carried by both men. Note: Officer on leave pending departmental investigation. Note2: Officer on leave pending continuing psychiatric evaluation. Note3: shooting has been cleared by department.   
_   
_Interview summary: Subject's reluctance to discuss his record regarding the use of lethal force verges on defiant. The officer talks about this shooting and two prior shootings only in terms of their legality. He avoids any question that is not a direct question and what answers he does give are brief to the point of nonexistent. The initial interview was cut short when the officer became angry. Though no identifiable verbal or physical threat was evidenced, the officer's body language suggested an increasing likelihood of violence. The anger was triggered when I pointed out that his records indicated a rising use of force, both lethal and nonlethal, following the death of his wife several years prior. Though the subject remained seated, his hands clenched into fists and his voice was- dangerous. He replied 'My wife is none of your damn business, little man. You won't mention her again." At that point, I terminated the interview. I refuse to certify the officer fit until further sessions can be completed.   
_   
_Addendum: Prior to the second interview, the officer was required to take the MACCP and DDH personality tests. The results of both tests indicate a perfectly stable personality profile. During the second interview, the subject expressed remorse for his prior behavior citing the fact that the case was still under investigation by IAD. I pointed out that this was not unusual given the undercover nature of his assignment and the fact that the shooting had involved known organized crime figures. The officer made no attempt to dispute this, and claimed to be ready to discuss any issues I felt necessary. He suggested that the stress of being under deep cover for such a long period of time had made him more edgy and suspicious than usual.   
_   
_For the first time, the officer expressed remorse over the first two shooting and explained that he had yet to reconcile his feelings concerning this last incident. The response was exactly what I would have expected from an officer in his situation- and all the more surprising given his prior interviews. The sudden change was- suspicious. When I again broached the subject of his wife's death, the officer simply said, 'I miss her. It's something that's hard for me to talk about. I hope you can understand.' Though he continued to be polite, he completely avoided any further discussion of the matter. The interview, though unsatisfying, revealed no reasons to reject the officer's request to return to duty. I am mandating continuing counseling sessions, though it is unlikely that the officer will be more forthcoming in the future. Based on the interview and tests results, I recommend the officer be returned to active duty. Given the length of time the subject was under cover and the number of incidents, legitimate or not, in his file, I also recommend that the officer be assigned to desk duty. Greater supervision of this officer in the field is also recommended.   
_   
_**Confidential note. Though the officer has been cleared for duty, I am still vaguely uneasy. All of the tests indicate a normal personality profile, and his responses to the final interview are exactly what would be expected of any other officer faced with a similar situation. However, the answers are all too pat. My sense is that the only time this officer has been truly honest with a therapist was the one incidence in which he expressed anger over the mention of his deceased wife. Such a reaction was markedly absent today, and if the incident hadn't made such a strong impression on me, I might dismiss my concerns as an overreaction on my part. The officer's willingness to use violence is clear. I am coming to suspect that his indifference to the consequences of such violence is real and not due to repression of such feelings or a reluctance to discuss them. During the final interview, I had the distinct impression that the officer was telling me what he knew I wanted to hear. Unfortunately, I have absolutely no objective reasons for refusing to reinstate this officer- especially given his scores on the standardized personality tests. This officer is either the most centered and stable man I have ever met or he is an extremely intelligent sociopath. In fact, I have my doubts that the current shooting incident was justified (see notes on transcript). Given the lack of witnesses, no one but the officer involved may ever know what really happened.   
_   
Marlena pushed the file away, sorry now that she had decided to read it. She regretted even more that she had never made Roman talk about their time apart. He had wanted to let that period of his life go and she had let him. She really hadn't wanted to know how he had lived his life without her. She hadn't wanted to hear about the women he had dated, the Christmases she had missed. She should have known how hard it had been on him. Deep inside, she had even wanted it to be hard on him. But she hadn't known....   
  
Her own memories of the time she had spent away were hazy and indistinct. There had been evidence of old trauma, no doubt from the explosion of the plane, and the doctors had finally concluded that much of that time had been spent in a coma. For years, she must have lain still- trapped within the confines of her own mind. When she had talked with Roman about her own fears, her own uncertainties about what had happened to her, he had been gentle and caring and open. Anything she had needed to say, he was willing to hear. He had held her, he had consoled her, he had whispered that everything would be alright. His words had always been kind- but his eyes had been icy. Gradually, she had stopped talking to him about it at all. Without realizing she was doing it, she had tucked that part of her life away and pretended it had never happened. Ignoring her missing years was better seeing the coldness in her husband's eyes. Ignorance had been so much better than the fear she had felt when she saw how hot the rage inside him still burned. She couldn't ignore that rage any longer. She couldn't pretend it was gone. Stefano Dimera was back and if she was not very careful, she could lose the only man she had ever loved to him.   
  
Marlena gathered the files up and reached for the phone. She was sick of waiting, it was time to act. Roman might not want her help, but she knew that he needed it. If Dimera was back in the picture, he needed her more than ever. Bo or Abe would go with her or she would go alone. Either way, she would be on a plane to New Orleans in the morning.   
  
She waited impatiently for Abe to answer his phone, her attention diverted by a knock on the door. Sherri, her secretary, peeked around the corner, a broad smile on her face. "This just came through on the fax machine, Dr. Evans. I thought you would want to see it immediately."   
  
She glanced at the paper and then allowed the phone to settle back down into its cradle. One look had been all it she needed to know that the handwriting was Roman's.   
  
_Doc,   
_   
_Sorry for the worry I know I have caused you, but there was a lead I had to check out and where I am staying, there is just no way to safely call you. I passed this to an undercover agent, who swore he would see it gets to you. I miss you and the kids so much, but this thing is about wrapped up. I'm not sure if I'm pleased or disappointed, but this seems to have been a wild goose chase as far as the lead I was checking out. It wasn't the man we were looking for- just your typical street punk causing trouble. Anyway, I should wrap-up the case tonight, and I was hoping you were still up for that second honeymoon we were talking about. I've made reservations for you on the first plane out tomorrow, and the Captain has kindly agreed to have you met by one of his officers. I haven't had much time for site-seeing, but I did discover a little place down here where we can... well, I leave it to your imagination. I had forgotten how beautiful New Orleans is, and I can't wait to share it with you, my love. Give my love to the kids, tell them I am fine and we will call them tomorrow after you have arrived and I've finished up the paper work on this case. See you tomorrow,   
_   
_Love always,   
_   
_Roman   
_   
  
Marlena laughed aloud, aware of the slightly hysterical tone. All of her sleuthing gone for naught- and few things could have pleased her more. A weight she didn't know she carried was lifted and she breathed easy for the first time since Roman had left. Dimera wasn't back. He was dead and buried in the past where he belonged. Roman would never let her come to New Orleans if there was the slightest chance Stefano was nearby. And if Roman had found Dimera... then too, he would not have wanted her there. The danger was over- it had never been. But for the worrying she had done- Roman would most definitely have to pay for that!   
  
The sudden realization of all of the packing she had to do if she was wanted to make a plane out in the morning hit her and she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. She was already planning what she would take- definitely the new sheer white nightgown she had purchased in the hopes of just such an occasion- as she pulled the door shut behind her. The files were left forgotten and with a smile on her face, she considered what Roman was capable of doing to get back in her good graces. With a spring in her step, she hurried home.   
  


****************************************   
  


"Dr. Evans?" A young man wearing the dress blues of the New Orleans P.D. called to her from beside the exit gate. "Dr. Evans. I'm Officer Ramie. Captain Hale sent me to escort you. He was hoping to meet you at a local diner. He told me to tell you that there would be someone there you were looking forward to seeing!"   
  
Smiling, Marlena allowed the officer to relieve her of her carry-on baggage. "Well, Officer Ramie- lead the way."   
  
Chapter 9   
  
Stefano stepped cautiously into the stinking cell. He had no desire to deal with this, but was unwilling to trust it to anyone else. The prisoner still lay trussed on the floor, the only sign of life the cold glint of his unblinking stare. With a flip of a switch, bright light flooded the room and the bound man was forced to flinch, ducking his head and hiding from the light. Dimera grimaced, hating the picture the unforgiving light painted. Hating the fact that he was responsible for it. If this kept up, John would be ruined. That, he would not accept.   
  
Slowly, he approached the body. Two days since the last of the drugs had been administered. Two days since Stefano had allowed anyone to lay a hand on the man other than to force water down his throat. Two days for the body to recover, the mind to mend. Two days hadn't been long enough.   
  
Crouching down, Stefano brushed the lank hair back from the man's face. The blue eyes blazed, no sign of recognition in their seething depths. That burning rage had always been the man's greatest weapon, driving him beyond fear, beyond pain. Now that same rage would get him killed if Stefano failed to find a way to restrain it to the point where coherent thought was possible. The drugs had done their work too well, freeing demons that must again be chained.   
  
Dimera ignored the battered body, focusing on the man's mind. He would not lose John to the madness, not now that he held the key to the man's reality. "I want you to concentrate, Roman. I want you to listen very carefully. Someone is here to see you. Marlena is here, and she needs you very badly. Do you want to see her, Roman? Do you want her badly enough to follow my orders?"   
  
As he had half expected, the only response was a low growl that seemed to originate from deep inside the prisoner's throat. Every muscle in Roman's body seemed to contract, cut in sharp relief beneath filth incrusted skin. Stefano could actually see the ropes binding the man's arms tear into already abraded flesh. "Why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?" he muttered.   
  
Sighing out loud, Stefano turned to a monitor hung in one corner and using a remote, activated the picture. There, laying in the center of the bed in her well-appointed room, was Marlena Evans Brady.   
  
Stefano chose his next words with care, knowing that threats to her life would be counterproductive. If he pushed too hard, the man on the ground would tear himself apart in an attempt to go to her. John would destroy anything and anyone who posed a threat to her- or he would destroy himself in the attempt. Subtlety would be required to draw the animal on the floor back to some semblance of humanity. Stefano Dimera was the king of subtlety.   
  
"Roman, do you want me to bring her down here? Maybe show her the bodies of the men you killed? Is that what you really want? If I wanted you dead, you would be. All I'm asking is that you act like a human being. Act like her husband. Would you really want her to see you like this?"   
  
Roman lay silent, but his eyes were locked on the screen. Dimera could see the awareness, could sense the need. He smiled, despite the circumstances, pleased with his ability to still read the man he had trained. "I'm going to cut you loose, Roman. All I want you to do is simply lay there. That's all I'm asking for Roman. Because we both know that if you want to, you can kill me. And we both know that the second you do, she dies too. Do you understand me, Roman? I just want you to lay still."   
  
There was still no response, but Dimera hadn't really expected one. One quick slice of a knife and the taut stretched rope snapped apart, springing away from the torn flesh. A groan escaped the throat of the prisoner as limbs that had been distended for days were freed, sending the beginnings of pain through numbed nerves. Stefano put his hand on a shoulder, steadying the man who lay at his feet, covering the image of a phoenix emerging triumphantly from the flames. "Easy boy, we've still got the cuffs to get off of you."   
  
As the driving rage receded, the man on the floor contracted in on himself, becoming smaller and much, much more vulnerable. Dimera withdrew a key from his pocket and carefully released the mangled wrists from the steel shackles, then stooped to do the same with the man's ankles. The prisoner lay on the dirt floor, completely unmoving, huddling in on himself as if to gather what strength he had left. Through it all, his eyes never left the face of the woman.   
  
"We'll get you cleaned up, you'll be as good as new," Stefano muttered, almost disappointed by the lack of resistance. He didn't want Roman beaten, he wanted John back. Marlena wouldn't achieve that for him, but there was someone else who might. With a malicious grin, Dimera realized what was needed. An enemy. An enemy who represented a threat to all the prisoner held dear. An enemy who wasn't Stefano Dimera. The irony of it appealed to him, and he believed he had found a way to make John accept the truth.   
  


****************************************   
  


Images in red in black flickered before her closed eyes and she wondered why she had a hangover when she hadn't been drinking. Gingerly Marlena laid her hand across her face to blot out the bright light and cracked her eyes cautiously open. The slowly turning ceiling fan above gave her no hint of where she was. One minute she had been riding in a squad car with some polite young officer and the next minute she was here. Ignoring the headache that pounded behind her eyes, she sat up and looked around.   
  
She was perched in the center of a queen size bed, feeling distinctly out of place. The bedroom was huge, the large bed barely making a dint in the floor space. Eleven foot ceilings served only to add to the sense of space. Along one long wall three arched windows were evenly spaced, allowing brilliant white light to flood the room. No glass covered the windows, the only bar to the elements simple wooden shutters that had been left wide open. An open window was almost as good as an open door. On still shaky legs, she walked carefully toward her promised freedom.   
Marlena blinked her eyes against the glare, peering out the window and debating her escape. Open windows were not a traditional sign of captivity- she had enough experience with such things to know. She had only to swing her legs over the wide window sill and she could be gone. Gone from where was the first question in her mind. Gone to where was the second.   
  
She stared out the window, her eyes roving across dense green jungle. Far beyond the trees, the glint of blue water beckoned. She could smell the sea, it was carried to her on the thick humid air. Eden after the fall, the lush landscape screamed to her of life and rot and wildness. "We're not in Kansas anymore," she whispered to herself.   
  
With an eery sense of inner calm, she sat down on the window sill and waited for him to come. She didn't have to wait long.   
  
"You look beautiful, my dear. I'm so pleased you've decided to accept my hospitality."   
  
Sitting within the frame of the arched window, she appeared not to hear him, her attention focused on something too far beyond the horizon to see. He knew that she had heard him. He was willing to wait as long as she was.   
  
"Where is he? Is he alive?" she finally asked, refusing to turn and face him.   
  
"Is who alive?" Stefano replied, pacing slowly across the tiled floor. He stopped only once he was close enough to touch her.   
  
Slowly, grudgingly, she turned to face him. God, he had forgotten how beautiful her eyes were- green and gold, like the jungle at twilight. He should have done this long ago. No matter the costs, he should have done this long ago.   
  
"My husband," she stated flatly, aware that Stefano was watching her. Aware that he was enjoying her.   
  
"Ah, yes- your husband. Tall fellow? Dark hair? Bad temper? Yes, he has requested that I keep you entertained while he is... otherwise engaged." Dimera rocked back on his heels and clasped his hands casually before him. He felt so alive when he was near her, so good. It was a feeling he decided to keep. It was time John learned- payback's a bitch.   
  
Marlena wanted nothing more than to slap that damn smirk off of his face. She knew that he expected her to try. She would hate to disappoint him. Sliding down from the window she raised her hand- and then slammed her knee into his testicles.   
  
Stefano dropped soundlessly to the floor, fighting for air. She was through the door before he could draw his first gasp. A dark flash in the corner of her eye and she was past the guard. The man hesitated long enough to look in the bedroom and she was gone, flying down a long corridor and realizing how impossible large the estate really was. The hallway emptied onto a broad balcony overlooking the foyer to the Mediterranean style house. She fought back the rising panic that told her to keep running and tried to imagine where he might be. Footsteps sounded out behind her, leaving her no time for subtlety. "Roman?!" she screamed, her cry echoing until it seemed he must have heard. "Roman, I'm here!"   
  
More guards appeared at the bottom of the staircase, pushing aside curious servants. The boots behind her slowed in their approach. She was trapped. She had known she would be. At least now, Dimera would know that she would not suffer it gladly.   
  
"Your manners appear to have deteriorated over the years."   
  
She could hear the pain in his voice, the effort it took for him to speak. It was a small triumph but a triumph all the same. "I didn't shoot you this time- I'd say that's status quo."   
  
"I have so missed these little encounters. It's the unexpected that makes you such a delight."   
  
She fought back tears, her frustration threatening to overwhelm her. Spinning to face him, she kept her head held high and her voice firm. "If you don't let me see him, I will make your life a living hell. I swear I will."   
  
Dimera sighed, shaking his head. "It is such a shame to see you waste yourself on him. He's not the man you think he is. He never really has been. You deserve someone who is worthy of you."   
  
"Is that why you brought me here? So that you could be the man I deserved?" Her lips twisted in a grimace and she eyed him like one would a bug.   
  
"No, actually it's not. I brought you here for him. I want him alive. I thought you might be willing to help me keep him that way. Of course, if you're not interested..." He shrugged and gave her a small smile.   
  
"Let me see him. Stefano, please?" she said softly, willing to sacrifice her pride if that was what was required.   
  
"In due time, my dear. In due time. For now, I believe dinner is about to be served. You will join me, of course." Dimera stepped forward and with a half-bow offered her his arm.   
  
Marlena glanced away, unwilling to see the pleasure on his face. "You won't hurt him?"   
  
"I never do anything without cause, Marlena. You know that. I suggest that you try not to give me cause."   
  
With only a moment's hesitation, she took his arm and allowed him to escort her down the stair case.   
  
Chapter 10   
  
Three days later, Marlena quietly opened the door to one of the many guest rooms. Stefano had finally consented to let her go to Roman and now she half-feared what she would find. From the doorway, she could see a pale figure, propped up on pillows in an ornate bed. "Roman?" she whispered.   
  
"Doc?" came a cracked reply from the figure laying under the sheets.   
  
The voice was weak, but it was unmistakably his. She walked slowly toward him, afraid to see the damage that had been done. The fact he hadn't moved from the bed was a bad sign. The unforgiving light that shone from the ceiling showed her the cause. With gentle hands, she tried to find a way to touch him that wouldn't hurt. "Roman, what has he done to you?"   
  
"It's OK Doc." He tried to smile at her, but his swollen face refused to cooperate. "This is actually an improvement. You should have seen me before they gave me a shave."   
  
His hand crept from beneath the stark white sheets to find her fingers. Roman closed tired eyes and said softly, "You shouldn't be here."   
  
"Neither should you," she replied, giving his hand a squeeze. At the slight pressure he flinched, the breath hissing from between his teeth.   
  
"Let me see," she said, releasing his hand and reaching for the sheet tucked beneath his chin. Roman shook his head, winding his fingers through the soft white cotton.   
  
"Let me see," she repeated, a demand rather than a request. The material slipped from his fingers whether he meant it to or not and she tugged the sheet down until it reached his hips. She tried to remain detached, strove for her 'Doctor's objectivity'. There is a reason doctors aren't allowed to treat the ones they love.   
  
She stumbled back, her face pale, feeling like she was going to be sick. Roman's arm snaked out, hidden strength there to steady her. "Really, Doc- it's superficial. Nothing important is broken and the bruises will heal with time."   
  
"I hate him. If for no other reason than this, I hate him," she hissed. Giving in to her need to be close to him, she stepped into Roman's waiting arm and let him pull her near. She leaned against the side of the bed and closed her eyes, her fingers running lightly through his thick hair. "I was afraid I had lost you. When I woke up here, I was afraid I had lost you. I couldn't bear that- you know?"   
  
Roman sighed deeply and let her presence take away his hurt. "You won't get rid of me this easily, Doc. I promise you. I figure you're stuck with me for the next hundred years or so."   
  
"What's he want from you, Roman? He's doing this for a reason. What is it he wants?"   
  
"What has he always wanted? He plays his games. It's what he does. The old man's insane. You just take care of yourself, I'll settle with Dimera."   
  
"Roman Brady, don't you lie to me," she snapped. "He did this to you for a reason. I want you to tell me what it is."   
  
He looked up and saw the tears that glistened on her cheeks. With a muttered curse, he pulled her down until her head rested against his bandaged chest. She didn't try to fight him, just lay still as the silent sobs welled up. He trailed gentle circles across her back with the tips of his fingers and tried to deny that the fault for this was his.   
  
"He's trying to do it again, Doc. He's trying to wipe out my memories, make me believe I'm whatever it is that he wants me to be," he finally managed to say.   
  
Marlena shook her head, rejecting the possibility that this was happening. Roman locked his arms around her, ignoring the pain in his ribs. He pulled her tighter and whispered in her ear. "It didn't work. He can't make it work this time. I won't let you go again, do you understand me? You keep me sane, Marlena."   
  
As he spoke the words, he knew they were true. The demons Stefano had placed in his mind had been real. He had heard the screams, smelled the blood, felt the joy of destruction. He would have stayed in that dark place if she hadn't come for him. He would go back there if she left.   
  
Marlena pulled slowly away from him and he reluctantly let her go. She brushed away the tears and forced a hesitant smile. "Is that why you're so beat up? You never have been any good at taking orders."   
  
"Hey, you know me- I'm stubborn."   
  
"Yea, you're the original tough man," she said, brushing the damp hair back from his face and pretending not to notice the tear that trickled down his cheek.   
  
"Tough enough," he replied, dragging her down and taking the kiss he had needed since she'd walked into the room.   
  


****************************************   
  


Knocking discreetly on the door, Stefano gave the pair a minute to collect themselves. While the thought of Marlena in another man's arms was distinctly distasteful, he had decided it was the least he owed them. After all, it would be for the last time.   
  
Dimera opened the heavy oak door and stepped inside. "Ahh, Roman. So nice to see you feeling better." In fact, Roman did seem a bit flushed. It was the first time Stefano had seen some color in his face since he had had him carried from the cell below to the room he now occupied.   
  
Roman simply glowered at him, and Stefano turned to beam at Marlena, knowing it would irritate the man in the bed. "And now,' Doc', if you will excuse us, Roman and I have some business to discuss."   
"Stefano, don't do this," Marlena replied.   
  
Stefano marveled at her ability to beg, coax and threaten, all at the same time. "Don't do what?" he replied innocently.   
  
"I will do anything, Stefano. Anything to make you stop this. But I won't allow you to strip his mind away. Not again."   
  
"Marlena, don't," growled Roman, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and forcing his legs to take his weight.   
  
Stefano was once again impressed- with both of them. Then again, it was why they had been chosen. Swaying on his feet, his ribs held together with tightly wrapped surgical tape, 'Roman' still managed to look dangerous. Knowing his full capabilities, Stefano thought he looked very dangerous indeed. He signaled to the two guards waiting in the hallway and they came in with tasers drawn. "Marlena, as much as I always enjoy our little debates, I'm afraid that now is not the time. Roman and I have private matters to discuss. I know you don't wish to make a scene?"   
  
Marlena did wish to make a scene- preferably a homicide scene. Roman's fingers linked through her own, pulling her back. She allowed herself to be led, knowing that if she started something now, Roman would end up paying for it. Stefano knew it too, and he played with them as a cat would a wounded bird.   
  
Nodding at Roman's swaying form, Dimera waved a placating hand. "Now Roman, you don't want me to have to put you down while Marlena watches, do you?"   
  
Roman staggered forward one tentative step and Stefano recognized that he was testing himself, considering whether or not he could cover the ground between them before the tasers found their target. Against his will, Stefano found himself taking a step back, insuring the extra second it would take to allow the tasers to do their job. He saw the realization wash over Roman's face, the will to fight draining away. "Good boy. Now why don't you sit back down on the bed and we'll have a civilized conversation."   
  
Marlena stood indecisively, wanting to stay but knowing that if Stefano tried to forcibly remove her, Roman would fight him. For all of the confidence she had in her husband, the current odds were simply too great. Still clinging to his hand, she wrapped her free arm carefully around his waist. Leaning close, she whispered in his ear. "I will always love you. I will always be with you. Don't do anything to get yourself hurt, Roman. Think of me and the children, and how very much we need you." With that, she kissed him lingeringly, and then forced herself to pull free of his grasping hand. Fighting back the tears, she stalked past Dimera, her eyes giving voice to an unspoken threat.   
  


****************************************   
  


As Marlena left the room, Roman eased back down on the bed. Stefano noted the grimace of pain, the way he shifted his left arm as if to protect his ribs. The man was not nearly as ready for a fight as he pretended.   
  
Regaining his composure, Roman looked coldly back at Dimera. "OK, just what exactly is it you want from me? And don't say Marlena, because you will never touch her as long as I still breathe."   
  
"Roman, Roman, Roman. If I wanted to take her, we both know you would have stopped breathing a long time ago. No, actually, I come bearing gifts. I am going to give you something you want very desperately. I'm going to help you remember your past...all of your past."   
  
"Don't do me any favors, Stefano. I've had a taste of your 'memories' and I believe I'll pass. If you think I'll let you take her away from me again, you're wrong- and I sure as hell won't believe a damn thing you tell me about my past."   
  
"Don't be so certain, Roman. What I have to show you is very convincing. Now, I believe that if you are well enough to stand, you are well enough to continue our little discussion downstairs. I have a few things that may help aid your memory. It may not be a pleasant conversation, but then every new birth must bring its share of pain, eh, my friend?"   
  
"I'm not your friend, Stefano. I never have been," Roman snapped, his voice harsh. He was once again on his feet, his hands attempting to curl his swollen fingers into fists.   
  
"We may as well get one thing straight, old man. I am going no where with you, Dimera. Not until you let Marlena go. Let her go, and I will give you anything you ask. But as long as you hold her, I will fight you every step of the way."   
  
The will to fight was there, but the madness wasn't. Stefano could sense the fear, he could hear it in the man's voice. He feared for Marlena and that fear made him weak. This 'Roman' was a dangerous enemy, but he could be controlled. He lacked the single-minded will to destroy that would allow him to make a stand here and now- a stand that would assuredly leave one of them dead. It was time to make it very clear to 'Roman Brady' just who exactly was in control.   
  
With two quick steps, Dimera closed the distance between them. He put all of his power into a viscous backhanded blow, his signet ring digging a deep gouge through the tender flesh of the man's left cheek.   
  
Roman had seen the blow coming, had known that his bluff had been called. He also knew enough to stand and take Stefano's punishment for his insubordination. As the ringing blow struck home, he felt bones crack and stabbing pain shot through his head. The force of it knocked him back onto the bed, the salty sting of blood making his eyes water. The red haze wove through his mind, and through the blinding fog he swore he heard himself growling deep in the back of his throat. Adrenalin pumped, his nerves sang, the hungry smile twisted his face. He gathered himself, the urge for destruction overpowering.   
  
"She dies, Roman," a cold voice cut through the fog. "If you come up off of that bed, no matter what you do to me, Marlena dies."   
  
The two men locked eyes, but there was no battle of wills to be fought. Roman sat very still, trying to slow his rapid breathing, realizing that his ribs were on fire and that he couldn't see out of his left eye.   
  
Stefano stepped back very slowly, careful to retain his control. "Roman, I want you to stand-up, turn around, and put your hands behind your back. And Roman, I want you to do it now. Do you understand me?" he asked, a hard edge to his voice.   
  
Without saying a word, Roman stiffly complied, the anger barely contained.   
  
Dimera refused to allow him even the pretense of resistance. Now, while his fear for Marlena was still fresh in his mind, it was time to teach him how to obey. Stepping directly behind the swaying body, Dimera grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and shoved hard. He crashed into the wall, the sound of the impact echoed through the room. Roman flinched, his arms starting to come up to protect himself. Stefano tightened his grip, digging his fingers deep into the muscles, and Roman stopped fighting, putting his hands behind his back. Never loosening his hold, Stefano ground his face into the wall and whispered softly into his ear, "I asked if you understood?"   
  
Roman leaned against the wall, fighting his instinct to turn and destroy. Almost groaning in his anger and frustration, he forced his muscles to relax. Gritting his teeth, he gave the appropriate response. "Yes sir, I understand."   
  
With a satisfied grunt, Stefano motioned to one of his guards to hand him a set of handcuffs. "I don't want you to flinch from that wall. Just stand still and keep your hands behind your back. Do you understand?"   
  
Roman locked his knees, leaning against the wall to keep his feet. "Yes sir," he whispered into the woodwork.   
  
Good enough for now, thought Stefano. And slowly, as much for the psychological effect as anything, he personally snapped the handcuffs around Roman's swollen wrists.   
  


****************************************   
  


Dimera watched as the broad leather straps were tightened, effectively immobilizing the man in the chair. The high-backed wooden chair was bolted to the floor, and Roman was completely constrained. The heavy leather would keep him in place, without causing too much damage to his battered limbs. Stefano knew that this could take a while. Marlena's presence kept Roman controllable, but she also provided a strong tie to the man's current reality. Dimera had to cut that tie, without removing the man's protective instincts and the resulting leverage it gave him. Fortunately, Stefano was fairly certain he knew how to do that. For now, however, it was necessary to once again cloud John's mind, to make him start to question just exactly who and what he was.   
  
Moving to a large cabinet bolted against the wall, he filled a syringe with a powerful combination of drugs. Walking softly up behind the man in the chair, he reached out and gently massaged his shoulder, going over the spreading bruises that distinctly showed where strong fingers had dug into the tender flesh. Roman flinched in the chair, and Dimera felt the muscles beneath his hand surge with power as the bonds restraining him were fully tested for the first time. "Easy now, you're not going anywhere. Just sit back, let it wash over you." He deftly eased the needle through tensed muscles, the bound man slowly relaxing as the drugs started to take effect.   
  
"I believe it's time to break out the family album, John." Pulling out his remote, he touched a button and a still photo flashed on the white wall in front of the chair. The photo showed a man in his early 30's. He was tall and thin, his greasy blond hair blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. He would have seemed comical if not for the bulge of the weapon that showed clearly through his designer jacket. "Remember him John? Kyle Reilley. He was a petty drug dealer with delusions of grandeur. You should remember him. He was the first man you killed for me, though certainly not the last. If you can remember who he is John, you can remember who you are."   
  
"I don't remember shit, Stefano. There's nothing to remember and there never will be."   
  
If he said it enough times, maybe it would be true. Then again, maybe it wouldn't be....   
  
_The damn winos have been using the alley for a toilet, the musky scent sharp and thick in the summer air. He's not going to let it ruin his enjoyment of the moment. It's been too long. Far too long. Years of practice, of training, of waiting. It had all been needless and he knew it. He was born for moments such as this and he had proven it long ago. Time to prove it to Dimera.   
_   
_Dimera. The man was probably pacing the floor at this very instance, and he can't quite help the pride he feels at the thought. Stefano was paranoid, he worried way too much. Still, it's kind of nice to be worried about. He's not use to the feeling.   
_   
_The sound of footsteps bounce off of concrete walls and he grins in anticipation. Reilley is right on time for the delivery. You've gotta love a prompt man, it makes things so much easier. He slips the knife free of its sheath, his fingers curling lovingly about the leather wrapped hilt. Deep breaths, slow and even as a shadowed figure walks past him, never noticing the crouching form of the young man.   
_   
_Rubber soled shoes make no sound as he rushes toward the unprotected back of his prey. A step behind the target and he can't help but slow down and play with his new toy. He stretches his legs to match the long strides of the taller man, drawing ever closer with each synchronized step. This is just too fucking easy.   
_   
_A sudden falter in the march to the end of the alley and playtime is over. Reilley starts to turn, his hand already reaching into his jacket. Reilley is too late. Reilley was too late the moment he entered the alley. A hard kick to the back of a knee and the tall man goes down, grunting in pain and surprise. The knife falls, a black shadow forged for this dark night. Impact, the hilt of the knife slamming behind the right ear, and Reilley drops. Stunned, not dead. Not yet.   
_   
_The clang of metal on stone as the Reilley's gun is tossed away. Half a shout makes its way from panicked lips and again the leg lashes out. The tip of a tennis shoe- Converse All-Stars- and the air is driven from Reilley's lungs. Screaming won't be allowed, it's bad form.   
_   
_Fingers wrap around the skinny neck and yank the gasping body to its feet. Using the momentum, the boy swings the older man around to slam into the brick wall. He can feel the pulse pounding wildly beneath his hand, the skin itself cold and clammy. Watery blue eyes catch the light from a distant streetlamp, fear plain to see. He needs to see this, needs to watch the eyes as they die. It's been so long. So very long.   
_   
"_Kyle? Can you hear me, Kyle?"   
_   
_A frantic nod, a glimmer of hope. If death was coming, it should have been here by now.   
_   
"_You aren't supposed to be here, Kyle. You don't have permission. Trespassing is a serious offense, don't you know that?"   
_   
"_Sorry. I'm so sorry. Tell Mr. Dimera it won't happen again. I promise, it won't..."   
_   
_A dark chuckle, the wildness rising. "I know it won't happen again. Dimera sent me to make certain it didn't."   
_   
_He relaxes his grip on the pulsing throat, sees the relief that shines in the eyes, the snotty smile that creeps across the lips. With a smile of his own, he lunges forward, the knife slipping between the ribs and searching for the heart. The eyes barely have time to register their surprise and then the knife does its work. Without a sound, Kyle Reilley's corpse slides down the face of the wall.   
_   
_He turns and walks away from the alley, not bothering to look back. He'd been right- it had been far too long. _   
  
"John? Tell me what you remember, John. Tell me what you see."   
  
His breath rasped out harshly from between clenched teeth. The alley. The knife. The blood. "You want to know what I remember, old man? Do you really want to know?" He forced a smile, struggled to focus on the face that peered down at him. The face was expectant, excited, gloating. He'd burn in Hell before he told that face the truth.   
  
"I see her," he continued, feeding on the anger that flickered in those dark eyes. "I see her in the church. I see her in her wedding gown. I see her beneath me on the night we made our children. I see her, Stefano. She's all I'm ever going to see, you pathetic son of a bitch!"   
  
"Enjoy it while it lasts, John, because it won't last much longer," Dimera hissed, raising another needle and calling the nightmares once again.   
  
Chapter 11   
  
Marlena walked slowly, aimlessly across the hard-packed sand. She was alone, completely free to come and go as she pleased. She was trapped, unable to leave no matter how hard she tried. Wading out into the warm water, she climbed up on one the jagged rocks that jutted from the sea like the shattered remains of some long dead monster's bones. Oblivious to the hot sun that beat down on her shoulders, the blue water that lapped at her toes, she sat and she stared into the horizon, hoping for a rescue she knew would never come.   
  
Dimera had been too preoccupied to bother her. That bothered her. It meant he was with Roman. It meant he was hard at work, stripping her husband away from her one piece at a time. She was afraid that he would succeed. If she was truthful, she would have admitted that she was afraid of more than that. Marlena had no desire to be so truthful. The past was dead, she was content to leave it buried. All she wanted was the man she loved. She wanted him home, safe, with her and her children and the life they had made together. Any doubts she had ever held had long been laid to rest. Not even Stefano Dimera could resurrect them now.   
  
There had to be some way off of this damn island. There had to be some pathway home. She had looked for days, and she still hadn't found it. She would keep looking until she did. Marlena knew where Dimera's secrets were hidden. The locations had been easy to find. Armed guards stood in darkened doorways, their uniformed bodies blocked shadowed halls. Those were the places where Roman would be. Those were the only places she wasn't allowed to go. Those were the only places on this godforsaken island she wanted to go. No amount of pleading, of flattery, of flirting had gotten her in. She would simply have to find another way.   
  
Dimera was one key to escape. He had always been vulnerable to her, drawn like a moth to fire. Dimera was too smart, smart enough to know his own weaknesses. She suspected that he avoided her now because he recognized the threat she posed. She would draw his attention from Roman. If Stefano gave her half a chance, she knew she could consume him. He knew it too. Stefano had always been too damn smart. Sarte, on the other hand....   
  
Sarte was a weakness, a chink in the wall Dimera had built around her. The little man had never taken his eyes off of her during the entire dinner Stefano had forced her to endure. Sarte was not nearly so smart as Dimera, he might let something slip if she approached him the right way. Of course, Sarte was probably too afraid of Stefano to ever take a risk- but it couldn't hurt to try.   
  
She had to try something. Every day her husband could be falling further and further away from her. If she waited too long, he might never come back. That was a loss she would not accept. Marlena tilted her head back, studied the gulls as they soared on the warm thermals. When the chance came to talk to Sarte alone, she would take it. If Sarte wouldn't help her, Dimera would still be there. There were some things Stefano wanted even more than his Pawn. She would remind him of that if she had to. She would make certain that he grew to regret it.   
  


****************************************   
  


Stefano paced the floor, nursing a glass of cognac and allowing the strains of an aria to drift through his weary mind. "He won't let go of her," he muttered absently.   
  
Sarte chuckled. "Can you blame him? She's a beauty."   
  
"She is that," Stefano replied, an unnoticed smile on his lips.   
  
"She asked where you were at lunch. It surprised me- I didn't think you were one of her favorite people."   
  
"Nothing that woman does surprises me anymore," Stefano said, nodding his head. "She's more dangerous than she appears. I have the scars to prove it."   
  
"If I were you, she would be my first priority. After all, Stefano, you can always buy more soldiers."   
  
"John is more than a mere soldier, Sarte. Don't underestimate his value to me," Dimera snapped, his eyes hard. "Besides, he's the first step toward having Marlena. If she were to lose him, if I could taint his very memory... She will not be an easy prize to achieve. I will claim her when the time is right and not before."   
  
"Well, at least she's keeping him rational. Stubborn, but rational. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"   
  
"I want him back- he refuses to come. I'm not pleased, Sarte. Not at all. I suggest you find some means of remedying that."   
  
"Stefano- I am not to blame in this. The man doesn't want to remember! If he has any choice in the matter, he will go to his grave as Roman Brady. The drugs can break him down, force him to relive the memories. When he refuses to accept the memories, it causes a break with reality- it's as if he doesn't own the memories he's seeing but is trapped by them. I can make him remember but there's not a damn thing I can do to make him accept!"   
  
"I suggest you try harder," Stefano said, his voice deceptively mild.   
  
The pointed look Dimera sent in his direction was a warning and Sarte recognized it as such. "Well, we aren't doing much good right now. You drug him up, he loses his mind. The drugs wear off, he's Roman Brady again. You can probably continue that cycle until it kills him and it won't get you what you want. Maybe it's time for the next step."   
  
"You're the one who told me he wasn't ready. Remember?"   
  
"He's not getting any more ready, Stefano. He clings to his identity as Roman Brady like a damn pitbull. That isn't likely to change. All he's doing now is getting weaker. You're going to have to risk it some time. The longer you wait, the less likely it is he will survive."   
  
Stefano blinked slowly, cold black eyes revealing nothing of the thoughts that lay beneath. Finally, he nodded. "Tomorrow then. And Sarte, if he dies on me, you are very likely to follow. Do you understand?"   
  
Sarte raised a glass in Dimera's direction before downing the contents in one deep swallow. "I understand perfectly."   
  


****************************************   
  


Roman's head swam with memories that were not his own. Images of death and violence, planted by Stefano. It was becoming harder every minute to separate truth from fiction. He was so damn tired. The only time he wasn't tired was in the midst of the dark rages. They were so real. He could remember the sounds, even the smells that accompanied the visions of destruction. God, he couldn't remember the birth of his children with such clarity.   
  
His children... he pictured their faces, using them to hold on to who he was. He had no doubt of his identity, the possibility that he could have been Dimera's man repugnant. Marlena would never have loved a man like that. He clung to the thought- Marlena loved him, he could not be the killer that stalked the dark corridors of his drug addled mind. He would not allow Stefano's illusions to take her away from him.   
  
He heard the key turn in the big iron door, the creak of hinges that rusted quickly in the tropical air. He tried to gather his energy, pull his thoughts together for the continuing battle. Soft footsteps approached, stopping directly behind him. Oh Christ, the waiting was the worst. When Dimera was actually there pushing him, he could gather the threads of his mind and focus on the fight. It was when he was alone, or even worse, at moments like this when Stefano simply stood and watched that the despair surged over him and the red fog threatened to take him. Roman feared the madness. He feared it more than anything Dimera could do to him. He knew that if he lost himself in the red fog he would never come back to her, and if he did, it would only serve to cause her pain. That, he would never do.   
  
The heavy hand gripped his shoulder, bringing him back to awareness. It was a relief to have human contact anchoring him to the present, even if the contact came from Dimera. The large hands kneaded muscles that seemed to knot each time he was left alone. He hated when Stefano did this, especially because it eased the pain and he could not stop himself from relaxing into the soothing motion. "Are you still with me, John?" came the low voice of his captor.   
  
"John's not here, Dimera. Why don't you stop deluding yourself and recognize that this time, you won't break me? I'm stronger this time, nothing you can do will erase the memories of my family."   
  
"Perhaps you're right," replied Dimera. "This does appear to be an exercise in futility- and I have no desire to inflict unnecessary pain."   
  
Roman snorted in derision, "Yea, I've noticed that about you."   
  
Stefano chuckled, pleased to note the man's resilience. He sometimes forgot the reserves of strength that had carried him through many a seemingly hopeless situation. He hoped those reserves would be adequate this time.   
  
"I just wanted to be certain you were aware of your surroundings, John. So often now you seem to slip away into the past. It makes you unpredictable, it makes you violent. Do you remember what you're like when you slip away?"   
  
"Go to hell," Roman muttered, too tired to fight about it.   
  
"I think it's time you remember, John. Your pretended ignorance has grown tedious. I've decided to introduce you to someone who will help you accept the truth. You be a good boy and behave yourself, and I will make this as painless as possible."   
  
Having assured himself that John was sufficiently in control of himself to be manageable, Stefano reached down and released the straps holding neck and chest against the well-worn wood of the chair. Stepping quickly back, he observed the reaction, trying to gage the level of force this was going to require.   
  
Roman doubled over, lacking the strength to hold himself upright without the support of the straps. He had been tied down the entire time he had been conscious, though he had no idea how long that might have been. He knew he must have been unbound at times, because he would come-to, cleaned-up and wearing fresh clothes. He never remembered the experience, though, and the ability to move, even to this extent, felt so good it was almost painful. He rested his head on his knees and tried to control his suddenly ragged breathing. Dimera's hands touched his shoulders, kneading the bunched muscles of his neck and back. For a moment he simply allowed himself to go with it, too exhausted to fight anymore. Stefano would take care of him, he always had.   
  
Dimera could feel the man's utter exhaustion, could sense his surrender. Perhaps the trip to the basement would not be necessary after all. Keeping one hand on the back of the bowed neck, he firmly held the man down and released the straps on his arms. All things considered, he had continued to heal nicely. The swelling was almost gone and the bandages were no longer spotted with fresh blood. John still didn't seem to realize his arms were free and Dimera let go of his neck, bending to address the straps securing his ankles. With snake-like quickness, a bandage encased arm shot upwards, hard fingers digging into his throat, searching for his spine. Using his weight, Dimera threw himself backwards, breaking the hold. Crashing to the floor gasping, he put his hand to his neck and felt the warm trickle of blood. He stared up into flaming eyes, watching as his attacker reached down, releasing his bound ankles.   
  


****************************************   
  


The guards at the door immediately stepped into the room on seeing their boss felled. God, he had to get to his feet, get to Dimera while he still had the will. So close, so close to caving and accepting the inevitable. End it now, kill the bastard and be done with it. His legs refused to work, too long with no use, the circulation cut off. Roman fell hard, taking the brunt with a shoulder, trying to buy himself some time. Get to his enemy, end this nightmare. Prove that he was Roman Brady. Prove it on Dimera's body. Prove it to himself. A booted foot slammed into his face and his head snapped back, the blood flowing. Too late. Too damn late.   
  
"Don't," Dimera ordered, crawling slowly to his feet. The guards reluctantly backed off and Roman was left to lay in the center of the floor, trying to stifle the now unproductive fire that had forced either action or capitulation.   
  
Dimera moved stiffly to stand above the downed man. He reached out, dragging the man's head up by the hair. Dazed eyes stared back into his own, their challenge plain to see. No one could be allowed to challenge him- not even John. Especially not John.   
  
"Never, John. You are never to lay a hand on me. Marlena will pay for your actions this day," Stefano said, allowing the cold anger he felt to show in his voice. It was the only threat that he had, but it was the only threat that he needed.   
  
Roman raised his hand, Stefano's blood still wet on his fingers. Closing his eyes on what he was about to do, he clutched at the arm holding him off the floor. "I'm sorry, Stefano. I didn't think, I swear to you... Don't take this out on her." He groaned, levering himself to his knees in front of Dimera. Bowing the head still held by one of Stefano's big hands, he did the unthinkable. "I beg you- anything you ask, I will do."   
  
Part of Stefano's anger was at his own stupidity. He had known better, but the prisoner's utter weariness had lulled him into carelessness. All he had needed to do to have retained control was to have reminded the man of the consequences of his actions, as he had been careful to do all week. Now he would have to answer the violent attack, there was no choice. John responded to power- it was to be respected. To allow this attack to go unanswered could well sow the seeds of a future clash of wills. "From now on, John, you will answer to your true name. You will instantly obey any command of mine or my men. And you will offer no resistance John. None at all. Do you understand?"   
  
"Yes sir, I understand perfectly."   
  
The words were contrite, subdued, even subservient. Dimera didn't believe it for a second. Turning to his head of security, Davies, he ordered, "Make him regret his actions, then bring him down to me in the cell block. This ends tonight."   
  
Chapter 12   
  
Stefano looked up from the monitor he had been studying to watch his men half-drag John down the long corridor. They had followed his orders a little too well and the man appeared to be only semi-conscious. He should have known better than to leave it to Davies. The captain of the guard had only just recovered from the beating John had given him on the day of his capture. Davies hadn't been able to walk for a week and Stefano thought he was becoming a little jealous of the attention being devoted to John's recruitment. Dimera would worry with disciplining Davies later.   
  
Stepping to the sagging body in the guards' grasp, Dimera wrenched John's head back, making sure he had his full attention. "Today, John. Today you come home. It's time you stop playing house and retake your position. Today, Roman Brady dies."   
  
With a nod to the guards, Dimera led the way into the cell block. On one side of the corridor was gray concrete, on the other a row of cells, divided and fronted by a lattice of steel bars. There were five cells and Dimera walked quickly past the first four, slowing as he came to the last. His men obediently positioned their captive in front of the cell and Stefano stepped behind him. Once again, he twisted his head back by his hair, and as the guards released his arms, Dimera shoved John hard up against the bars. Forcing his head into a gap in the steel, Stefano grated into his ear, "You want Roman Brady, you got him. He's laying right there, just as he has been for the past 13 years."   
  
Inside the sparse cell, the sole occupant of the cell block rolled off of his cot and approached the gathered men. "What the hell do you want from me, Dimera."   
  
The man in Stefano's grasp stared into his own face. The face he had been born with. The face Stefano Dimera had stolen from him, along with most of the memories that went with it. For a split second, the two men locked gazes- then all hell broke loose.   
  
John slammed an elbow back into the force that was constraining him and reached through the bars, struggling to destroy the imposter before him. Dimera fell, the force of the blow opening him up above his right eye. The guards scrambled, Davies' taser taking John in the chest, dropping the man to his knees, bringing his attention back to those outside of the cell bars.   
  
The man inside the cell stepped back, felt blood spray over him as the tattered man on the floor thrust himself to his feet and used the force to propel his palm through a nose, sending splinters into the brain pan and resulting in an explosion of crimson. In one flowing motion, John encircled the neck of the next guard and flipped him over his hip. Retaining his hold, he jerked upward, snapping the small bones of the neck and severing the spinal cord. As easy as breathing, John caught a descending wrist, halting the baton intended for his head. He twisted and the wrist snapped. As the man in his grip sank toward the floor, John's knee smashed into his face, putting him out. Davies, the only guard left standing, ran down the hallway for reinforcements. With no one left to stop him, John lunged for the cell and the man standing just out of his reach. "You fuck. You lying Fuck. You are dead!" he screamed. "You are dead!"   
  
Stefano was dazed and covered in blood, some of which he was certain was his own. Someone was screaming death, and he considered unconsciousness before quickly dismissing the idea. He grabbed a taser off the limp body laying next to him and tried not to catch the notice of the madman above him. This was not exactly going as planned, but the fact that John was more concerned with the man in the cell than he was with Stefano was a good sign. Where the hell were his men?   
  
Alarms were sounding all over the place, and Dimera watched as his men came pouring down the corridor. John turned to meet them, grateful there was someone he could get his hands on. Undaunted by the numbers, John advanced toward the overwhelming force. Stefano saw at least three of the tasers strike home, and overloaded synapses finally dropped the man to the floor, clutching instinctively for the wires delivering the current. From behind, Dimera fired another jolt toward John's unprotected back and was rewarded with a spasmodic arching in his rival as he lost all voluntary control. Rolling over on his side to prop himself up, Stefano waited as his men swarmed over the collapsed body, pinning it irrevocably to the ground. Crisis averted, he leaned back to catch his breath. "Nice work, Davies. Secure him in the next cell. Chain him to the bars, wouldn't want these two to kill each other."   
  
Dimera rolled himself to his feet, dabbing at the blood that still leaked from his lip. That was a bit more unpredictable than he liked.   
  
"What the hell are you up to, Dimera? What's he doing here?" asked Roman, wrapping his hands around the bars and watching as the guards swarmed over the downed man.   
  
"Just a little something to keep you company, Roman. I thought you might be lonely," Dimera replied. "Besides, you are going to provide him with an important lesson."   
  
"I'm not providing that stinking drone with a damn thing," Roman snapped, his hands tightening around the bars of his cage until the knuckles shone white.   
  
Stefano smiled fondly at his old rival. "You've already done more than you know, Roman. More than you could possibly know.   
  
"Davies," he called, his attention shifting to the guards who struggled with the groaning body on the floor. "Keep an eye on John. Wake him up and make certain that Roman has his full attention. I'll be down in the morning to see if they've made any progress toward mutual understanding."   
  
"Yes sir, Mr. Dimera. I'll see to it."   
  
As soon as Dimera disappeared from sight, Davies yanked John's head back, his body still penned to the floor. Blue eyes blinked rapidly, struggling to focus. With a vicious smile, Davies drove his fist into the bruised face, taking satisfaction in the blood that started to flow. "Take him into the next cell," he snapped to the men standing around him. "Chain his ankles to the bars on the far side- wouldn't want him to hurt himself. I'll be back in a second."   
  
Furtively, Davies rummaged through Dimera's private medicine cabinet. He couldn't believe the amount of energy that was being wasted on one man. John Black wasn't a soldier, he was a damn psycho. It was time to prove it to Dimera once and for all. Picking with care, he selected a potent combination of drugs from the cabinet.   
  
John was already struggling to rise to his knees by the time Davies got back to the cell. His ankles securely fastened to the bars on the far side of the cell, he shook his head and made an aborted attempt to get to his feet.   
  
"Dammit, grab him!" Davies yelled. "Get some friggin' cuffs on him."   
  
Taking no chances, four men moved in on John, wrenching his arms behind his back and fastening them securely together. Davies reached in, grabbing the short length of chain that secured the prisoner's wrists and yanked up, forcing the man to bend almost double, his arms twisted awkwardly up behind his back.   
  
"I don't want him moving around, tie this off- and keep it tight." With the prisoner now almost completely immobile, Davies jabbed the needle into the tightly stretched muscles of the right shoulder.   
  
"Hey, Dimera didn't say anything about drugging him," one man nervously noted.   
  
"He said he wanted him awake, didn't he? Well, this will keep him that way- and it will keep him from enjoying the experience. He just killed two good men, I'm going to make him pay for it. Besides, Brady here will keep an eye on him for us, won't you Brady?"   
  
"Go to hell," Roman replied, watching curiously from his cell and wondering what the hell Dimera was playing at now.   
  
Davies merely laughed. "A place you're obviously familiar with, eh, buddy. OK, guys, let's leave these the two lovebirds alone- bet they'll want some privacy as Black comes around. I'm going to hit the showers. Just leave them be- Dimera's favorite is going to be a hurting puppy for a while."   
  
The sound of receding footsteps, and the two of them were left alone. Roman studied the man who had stolen his wife, his children, his very identity. The man's face he knew as well as his own. He had seen it countless times- in his cell questioning him, in the pictures Stefano had used to taunt him, in the videos of his family and this... usurper.   
  
"There is justice in the world," Roman said softly, waiting patiently as the man gathered the strength to lift his head.   
  
"What did you do to earn this? Another betrayal? After all, you are so good at that," Roman continued, his hatred bubbling to the surface. "Or is this all just another twisted game? You think I have anything left to tell you after all these years? You sick bastard, I hope they crucify you!"   
  
The man on the cell floor shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Foreign words in a familiar voice assaulted him. He ignored the voice and the promise of pain it carried. He ignored everything, knowing that thought would hurt. He focused on finding his balance in the awkward position as his ribs burned and his lungs fought for air. The dusty concrete floor provided him with no reprieve from his own mind, so he twisted the thoughts until they served his will. An imposter. The man in the next cell was an imposter. Another trick, that was all.   
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" the man who wore Roman's face snarled at him from across the cell.   
  
He raised his head, struggling against distended shoulder joints, and stared into the face that had been his. Older and tired with lines that shouldn't have been there, it was still the face he expected to see in the mirror. Without conscious thought, he lunged out. Nothing mattered but that face and the need to make it go away. A scream ripped from his throat as the joint in his left shoulder separated, the 'pop' sounding loud in his ears. The pain was welcome, obscuring the thoughts, obscuring that face. His body swung to the side, slamming into the bars behind him. The pressure on his shoulders was unbearable, but his nerves were now humming with a drug induced adrenaline rush. His mind was muddled, tiny pieces of reality slipping away from him with each labored breath. The cramps hit, doubling him over, the dry-heaves forcing the air from his lungs. Images in black and white beat him down, forcing him to see.   
  
"_He's just a cop, boss. Why do you think he's worth all this effort?" He watches with vague curiosity as Dimera slides the needle into the bound man's flesh. He ignores the screams of rage, the promises of retribution. It's nothing he hasn't heard before.   
_   
"_This man has caused me a considerable amount of difficulty over the past few years. There is more to him than meets the eye. You'd know that if you didn't spend all of your time in Europe, John." With a satisfied grunt, Stefano reaches down and checks the straps that bind the man to the chair. He slaps the face lightly as the man goes under, his words becoming slurred and incoherent.   
_   
"_The food's better in Europe," John replies, his impatience increasing with every minute he stands here in this dark closed room. "Look, Stefano, I'm really not in the mood for this shit right now. Do you have an assignment for me or is this another stupid test? I've told you I'm fine. I'm ready to go back into the field. Find me something to do or I'm going to find it myself."   
_   
"_This is your assignment John. Think of it as a little gift from me to you. A working holiday, if you will," Stefano says, gesturing to the slumped figure in the chair.   
_   
_John turns from his inspection of the rough rock walls of the underground room, rubbing at his still tender face and wondering what Dimera would think if he just left. Instead, he draws his gun and steps to the unmoving body. "You want him dead, just say the word. You don't think I've lost my nerve, do you?"   
_   
"_Don't get paranoid on me."   
_   
"_Well stop treating me like you think I'm going to break! Give me something to do, or I swear to God...."   
_   
"_What, John? What are you going to do?"   
_   
_Stefano eyes are dark and worried. They make him feel weak, unstable, uncertain. He doesn't know what he will do- anything to make the damn voices in his head shut up. "What's the assignment?" he mutters, sliding his gun back into its holster.   
_   
_Dimera hesitates and John worries that he's going to push the issue. One day, he's going to push the issue too far.   
_   
_Dimera doesn't push. Looking down, he nods at the prisoner. "He's the assignment. He has something I want. Something very precious. I want you to get it for me."   
_   
_John merely shrugs- a mindless assignment any lackey could fulfil. Stefano still doesn't trust him. It's not worth arguing about. "So what is this 'precious thing' you want me to steal?"   
_   
_A distant smile drifts across Dimera's face, his eyes clouding with unshared memories. "It's his wife- Marlena Evans-Brady. Come upstairs and I'll explain how you're going to take her."   
_   
_John hesitates in front of the unconscious man, studying his face, looking for some hint of underlying strength. There's nothing to see, just another white-bread cop, the type that ate donuts and coached little league and threw barbeques in the summer. He should just put a bullet in the guy's head, put him out of his misery. He seriously doubts this guy is dangerous enough to deserve whatever Dimera's going to do to him. Then again, John has never been foolish enough to think that life is fair. If it was, he'd have never been born. With a casual shrug, he turns and leaves Roman Brady to the darkness.   
_   
As suddenly as they hit, the cramps eased and he swung loosely from the chains around his wrists. The air cut through his lungs, bringing awareness. Staring at the floor, he refused to look at that face. "Bastard. Fucking bastard. Won't work- she'll know," he hissed, clinging to the one certainty in his life. "She'll known you're not me, you bastard."   
  
"You son of a bitch," Roman muttered, shaking his head and watching the bowed form of the other prisoner. "You really think she's yours, don't you? You don't even know who you are, you stupid punk!   
  
"You work for him! You understand me, you work for him! You stole my whole life and if you think I'm going to let you keep it, you're even dumber than I thought!" Roman hadn't believed he could hate anyone as much as he hated Dimera, but he now knew better. This was the man who had lived his life, who had raised his children, who had made love to his wife. It was only right that John Black lose all that he had stolen.   
  
"You work for him," Roman continued, his voice low and malicious. "You're his friend. His number one man. You'd stand there and ask me about her, try to ferret out the secrets of our life together so that you could pretend like they were your own. I didn't give you much- but everything you knew about her was mine."   
  
He shook his head, fighting against the words, the drugs, the memories. "Not his friend," he whispered. Never his friend....   
  
"_Beautiful, isn't it," Stefano asks, watching him with amused eyes.   
_   
"_Yea, it is," he replies, unable to hide his awe. The fields stretch out before him, nothing but grass and trees and birds. No humans. No threats. Nothing but the peace of the wilderness.   
_   
"_Every man needs a place to call home. I thought you might like this one."   
_   
_He looks up at the big man beside him and smiles, the act tentative and unfamiliar. "Who do you want me to kill?"   
_   
_Stefano ruffles his hair and laughs. "I'll make a list."   
_   
_He suspects that Dimera is joking. He hopes that he isn't._   
  
The convulsions slammed him against the bars, driving away consciousness, leaving nothing but the empty darkness. If he could think, he'd have been grateful. Instead, he was simply gone.   
  
Roman cursed, his hand slapping against a bar, as the other man passed out. Whatever the drugs were doing to him, Roman wished they'd do it some more. The body kept jerking, muscles reacting in ways they had never been meant to. The movements stirred the memories, and if Roman listened very hard he could make out the fear in the words that spilled from the man's lips. The words were incoherent, but Roman sat and listened anyway. Eventually, the man would wake up. Roman watched and he waited and he wondered what could make a man so afraid.   
  
He swam through the blackness, avoiding the light. The light brought the memories and the memories were all bad. He pulled the blackness to him, wrapping himself inside it like a blanket of nothingness in which he could hide. The light slipped through anyway, and in the shadows of its passage, the memories remained.   
  
_Grimy streets, grimy clothes, grimy skin. Even his thoughts are dirty and worn. He clenches his hand to his side, pushing the pain away. The knife he holds is the only friend he will ever need and he grips it tightly as he slips through the darkness and approaches the car. Long and black and so clean it shines- a challenge to his crown of dirt. He watches as the man walks up the front stairs, entering the barred doors like he owns the place. Confident, cocky, powerful- the boy can read it all in the set of the man's shoulders. The boy could never refuse a challenge and he smiles as he makes his way to the waiting car.   
_   
"_Don't open the door," she whispered in his ear. "Don't get in the car. I'm here with you. Don't go inside."_   
  
"Marlena? Doc?" He ground the words out, the effort making his throat raw. He yanked again against the chains, spat the bile from his mouth.   
  
Roman snorted an ugly laugh. "She's not here. Just your own head playing games with you. Did you enjoy the trip? Didn't sound like it to me."   
  
"She's here," he said weakly, talking to the imposter because anything beat visiting the memories again.   
  
"She's not here. You're hallucinating," Roman replied, his tone suddenly sharp and fearful.   
  
Fighting against his own muscles, he raised his head and looked at that face. He blinked, wishing the face would go away. When it didn't, he had to fight back the tears. "Dimera brought her here. I saw her. He wants her. He always has."   
  
"You're lying," Roman stated, the sudden fear bringing him to his feet.   
  
"No. She's here...."   
  
The muscle spasms struck like a blow, the pain of it tearing through his mind, slicing him open, leaving him exposed. The wounds wept memories he couldn't escape.   
  
"_Don't leave me, Angel. Please, don't leave me...." _   
  
_He whispers prayers he knows won't be answered and walks on down the hall. __The hallway is long and narrow and impossibly tall. He is impossibly small. But the bat in his hand is magical- it makes him big, it makes him strong, it's going to make him free. He walks forever, and with each step the darkness deepens until darkness is all that exists. He becomes the darkness and enters his new kingdom. The bat, the blood, the crack of bone- he owns it all and is grateful for his gift.   
_   
"John! Not now, you bastard. Don't you dare do this to me now. Tell me about Marlena, John. Tell me where she is!" Roman's arm shot through the bars, wanting to shake the man, to tear the truth from him. Instead, he watched helplessly as the body convulsed and blood ran down to join a growing pool beneath the man's bent head.   
  
_Peace. As close to peace as he would ever come. The clear waters close over his head, dragging him down, away from the sun. He stares up at the light and opens his mouth, letting the water fill his lungs. He dies. Long before he is born, he dies.   
_   
"Damn it!" Roman watched as the man in the next cell slipped further away from reality. Marlena couldn't be here. Not after all this time. John Black was a liar. A dirty rotten liar. But if Marlena was here....   
  
Roman rubbed at his temples, trying to think, to see beyond his anger and his fear. If John cared about Marlena, if he just imagined he cared, that could be all the edge Roman needed. He could use Dimera's Pawn, but to do it, he needed the man alive. Cursing the necessity, he began screaming for the guards. Roman might not have figured out exactly what was going on, but he was very certain that Stefano still wanted his soldier alive.   
  
Chapter 13   
  
Roman's voice was raw from calling for help. Hours had passed and no one has responded. The man in the next cell was dying, the convulsions that wracked him tearing him apart from the inside out.   
  
Feeling the futility of it, Roman once again shouted down the hall for a guard.   
  
To Roman's surprise, this time, his cries were answered. A young man, one Roman recognized as belonging to the swing shift, responded. Hesitantly, the man walked down to the end of the corridor. "What is it? What do you want?"   
  
Knowing there was no time to waste, no margin for error, Roman simply ordered, "Get Dimera, now."   
  
"It's 4 in the morning, it will have to wait," the young man answered.   
  
"Do you want the responsibility for that man's death? Because that's what's going to happen if you don't act, sonny. Call Stefano, let him decide. Look at him, dammit. He isn't going to last if you stall." Roman didn't give a damn if the man died, he'd be happy to do the deed himself. But if there was even a chance the man could be of use...   
  
As if aware of the scrutiny, John raised his head. "Stefano?" he called weakly. He blinked watery eyes, straining to focus. Looking at the young guard, he smiled through bloodstained teeth and hissed, "Dimera is going to destroy you!"   
  
The young guard looked stunned, then he turned and ran for the door. Roman watched him leave, wondering briefly if he was running for help or merely to escape. He turned his attention back to John's now limp body and waited for him to die.   
  


****************************************   
  


Stefano groaned, and half-awake, reached over and hit the intercom. "This better be good," he growled.   
  
"Sorry, sir. It's just, well, John Black doesn't look too good and I just thought I should make sure you knew what was going on," came a hesitant voice.   
  
Fully awake now, Dimera rolled out of bed, snatching up his clothes from the night before. "I'll be right there.   
  


****************************************   
  


"Someone will die for this,' Dimera swore to himself. His hands clenched tight around the cool steel bars, anchoring him to the spot. Wearing the blood stained clothes from the night before, his expression gave but a hint of his anger and the young guard at his side shrank away in fear.   
  
"Open the cell and send for more men. He's still dangerous, even like this. And get Davies down here. I need to know what he gave him," Stefano said, his voice as brittle as ice.   
  
He moved slowly into the cell, the familiarity of this scene striking a deep chord.   
  
"There are less messy ways of killing a man," Roman called mockingly, enjoying the pain he saw on Dimera's face.   
  
"Shut up," Stefano snapped, not bothering to look at Brady. He knelt down beside the body, his hand running gingerly across the deformed joint of the shoulder, noticing for the first time the bloody bile that soaked the prisoner's knees. His fingers curled into a fist as a spasm shook the bound man, and he instinctively reached out, steadying the convulsing body.   
  
"Stefano?" John whispered, one eye fluttering open as his lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "Knew you'd come. Kill these fuckers for me."   
  
"Sir, we called in the day shift- they should be down any minute," Blakely, the nightshift commander, called from the open doorway.   
  
Dimera nodded, trying to hold the sweating man still as he jerked mindlessly against the chains. "Give me the key," he said. "We need to get him out of here."   
  
Two of his men took up positions on either side of the chained man, the youngest guard still standing pale-faced in the doorway. Stefano ground his teeth together, fighting down his urge to scream at them. With a sharp 'click' he released John's good arm from the shackle, the limb dropping like a dead weight. With a low groan, John flinched away, another convulsion making him jerk spasmodically. Wary of the injured man's reputation for destruction, the guards scrambled back, leaving the body to pound against the steel bars.   
  
"Dammit, hold him!" Stefano snapped, grimacing as he tried to grab the free arm.   
  
Blakely moved in, using his body weight to try and pin the thrashing man. Again, burning muscles contracted, but this time there was conscious thought behind the movement. Blakely was flung away, his head cracking against the bars. John lashed out with his free hand, ignoring the tearing of muscle, driving Dimera back. The drugs pumped through him, the adrenalin surging in his veins and blinding his eyes. Searching fingers scrambled against the hard leather of a holster and then Blakely's gun was in his hand. The cold steel of the gun was the only reality he could accept, and he flung his arm out, drawing a bead on the scattered figures before him.   
  
"You bastard," he grated, his gaze and his gun shifting unsteadily from Dimera to Roman and back again.   
  
Stefano calmly raised his hands, careful to keep his movements slow. "John..."   
  
"You lying bastard!" John screamed, huddling against the bars and swaying softly. Tears streaked his cheeks, a low moan rumbling through his chest as he bent low to relieve the strain on the arm still locked above his head. His eyes lost focus, the gun dropping to point at the floor before him. "Bastard," he whispered again, as he brought the barrel of the gun to his own forehead.   
  
Numbed fingers fumbled at the safety, panic urging him to hurry as another wave of cramps washed over him. Convulsing helplessly, his arm dropped and Stefano's heavy frame plowed into him, crushing his free arm against the bars. The gun fell uselessly from fingers that would no longer obey. He let reality go and the light slowly faded, the last of the drugs surging through his system to leave his body hanging limp in Dimera's grip.   
  
"If this is what you do to your friends, I'm glad I'm your enemy," Roman called softly, his voice breaking the lingering silence.   
  
Stefano said nothing, focused on unlocking the remaining shackles. Gathering the body in his arms, he drove himself to his feet.   
  
"Tend to Blakely and tell Sarte to meet me in the infirmary," he ordered the guard who still blinked owlishly at him from the floor. "And I want Davies in a cell- now. Nobody is to lay a hand on him- I'll leave that to John."   
  
Stefano looked up, finally acknowledging Roman's presence with a grim smile. "You've done me an invaluable service, Roman. My thanks," he said, with a half-nod. Turning on his heel, he strode from the cell, John Black's body draped loosely in his arms.   
  



	3. Book III: The Fallen

Falling from Grace  
Book III: The Fallen   
  
[Author note: I'd almost forgotten I'd started posting this one here! Thought it only right to bring it to something of a conclusion- so here it is. See http://daysfanfiction.com/falling/index.html if you want to find a continuation of this story. Otherwise- this can stand as an ending- bittersweet though it is.]   
  
Chapter 14   
"How is he?"   
  
"He'll be fine," Sarte replied, hoping it was true. "He cracked a wrist, dislocated a shoulder, there's fluid in his lungs. None of it should kill him. Of course, he still hadn't recovered from the beatings...."   
  
Dimera sat in an overstuffed armchair, picking absently at the crusted blood on his shirt and watching Sarte smooth down the bandages that now wrapped John's face. "That's not what I meant. I know he'll live. He's too tough to die so easily. Did he remember, Sarte? Did he accept it?"   
  
Sarte tightened the leather restraints around the unconscious man's wrists, noting how odd they looked attached to the antique frame of the missionary style bed. With a muted sigh, he tried to form an answer that wouldn't get him killed. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "He remembered. The drugs left him no choice. And with Brady right there, staring him in the face- it would be hard for him to have rejected the truth. But the mind is complex, Stefano. I don't know how he'll react. If he wakes up, I guess we'll find out."   
  
"He will wake up?" Stefano said, his tone dangerous.   
  
"He should, but.... Stefano, I don't know what he will do. You told me you thought he recognized you when you first went into the cell. You yourself said it reminded you of when you pulled him out of the Soledino compound. He's hurt right now. Some of his last memories of his time with you are of the Soledinos and what they did to him. I've got him wrapped up like he was when he got back from that. If those memories have been triggered, he may latch on to them. It's what I'm hoping for. If he does, he may come back."   
  
"Or he may not."   
  
Sarte simply nodded. "Or he may not. He put a gun to his head, Stefano. He doesn't want these memories. If he refuses to accept them, he may never come back at all."   
  
Stefano allowed himself a tired groan of frustration. "At least he's not going to wake up thinking he's Roman Brady, is he? That battle has grown tedious."   
  
"No," Sarte chuckled. "I doubt even his powers of self-delusion are capable of that. He may remember his time as Brady, he may not. But I doubt even he can pretend that it's the truth anymore. At least some good came out of Davies' stupidity."   
  
"Davies is a punk with an inflated ego. If John dies because of what he did, Davies will be quick to join him."   
"And if John lives?" Sarte asked, looking curiously at Dimera.   
  
An ugly smile curved Stefano's lips. "If John lives, Davies will be his first test."   
  
"Already playing games," Sarte replied, shaking his head and moving to the door. "There's nothing more to be done right now. I'll check back on him in a few hours."   
  
"I'll wait here," Dimera said, pulling his chair closer to the bed before sitting back down.   
  
"It could be a long time, Stefano."   
  
"Then I will wait a long time."   
  


****************************************

  
  
"Where are they, Dr. Sarte?"   
  
"Dr. Evans! How nice to see you. I thought my dinner invitation would be refused. For once, I am glad to be wrong."   
  
Marlena eyed the wiry little man distastefully. The rumpled white linen suit seemed to be the same one he was wearing the last time she had had the displeasure of his company, and it showed no signs of having been washed since then. His grey hair billowed about his head like some unholy halo, Einstein on amphetamines. She could smell the alcohol on his breath from ten feet away and his dirt-brown eyes were watery and unfocused. There was no point in seeking help from the deplorable old reprobate- she'd made the attempt enough times now to know. Dimera was the one she would have to work on and Dimera had been avoiding her like the plague.   
  
"Please, my dear lady, join me." Sarte gestured to the dinning table, laden with fresh fish and tropical fruits. Stefano was an idiot to spend his time hovering over a comatose man when he could be ingratiating himself to such a fine looking woman. Oh well, Stefano's loss...   
  
Her eyes narrowed dangerously and Marlena crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Sarte, your attempts at Southern charm have no effect on me. I want to know where Stefano is and I want to know now!"   
  
Sarte shrugged and turned his attention to the poached red fish on his plate. "I thought you disliked Mr. Dimera. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."   
  
With three quick strides, she was beside him. "Dislike is an understatement. But it has been three days since Stefano has inflicted his presence on me, and that means he is up to something. You are going to tell me what he is doing to Roman. You are going to tell me right now."   
  
There was a threat in her voice and Sarte looked up, startled to find her looming above him. His mouth went dry and he watched mesmerized as firm breasts rose and fell within the thin cotton of her red sundress. "If I don't tell, will you punish me. Please?" he whispered, manic eyebrows rising suggestively.   
  
"You are a twisted little pervert," she spat, stepping quickly back.   
  
"True." Sarte nodded amicably, poking at the rapidly disappearing remains of his meal. Giving a satisfied grunt, he leaned back in his chair and picked his teeth with a thin sliver of bone. "However, since you ask so nicely, I will tell you this. Dimera won't hurt the boy. He's always had a fondness for him. If you feel the need to worry about someone, you'd best worry about yourself."   
  
Marlena debated slapping the man, but decided he would enjoy the experience more than she would. Scowling in frustration, she merely shook her head. "You aren't a very good liar, Sarte. I've seen what Dimera is willing to do to Roman. There is no way I'm going to let him get away with it."   
  
Sarte's sharp bark of laughter grated in her ears. "Oh, you are so beautiful yet so wrong. I am an excellent liar, Dr. Evans. Really, I am. But I have no need to lie to you. Whatever hurt was done to your 'Roman', he did to himself. Stefano will do everything in his power to see that he is returned to you, alive and well and fully aware of who he is. You have my word of honor on it."   
  
"You have no honor, Sarte." Her fists clenched angrily at her sides, she stalked from the room to continue her search for some weapon to use in the coming battle.   
  
"Damn fine woman, that. Damn fine," Sarte muttered, watching with pleasure as she left.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Darkness. He was back in darkness and he hurt. His eyelids fluttered, trying to make the darkness go away. It didn't work. Where the hell was he? Gotta get out. Gotta get out now.   
  
"_You're Stefano's pretty boy, aren't you, hijo? You won't be so pretty when we send you back to him."   
  
Strong fingers weave their way through his hair, wrenching his head back so that he stares into the burning lights above. He watches the dance of the knife, the light glinting off the blade the only thing he can see. His attempt at a laugh croaks out as a moan and he can't find the strength for a curse. He settles for a grin instead and earns another slap for his efforts.   
  
"Hijo de puta! You will beg. Before I am finished, you will beg for your death." The voice he knows is Jesse's hisses out at him as strong arms wrap around him, holding his unresisting body still. He tries not to think about what's coming next, but three days in Hell have taught him all too well. He holds onto the pretense of ignorance even as the scream builds in the back of his throat.   
  
The knife drops. It trails across his face, as gentle as a lover's touch. He tries to welcome it, but steel is a fickle mistress and her icy caress splits him open, just another offering for her to consume. His body rebels, flinching as the flesh breaks and the blood makes good its escape. How can one more wound still matter? How can one more cut still hurt? He bites back the scream his throat tries to make, unwilling to give the fuckers the satisfaction.   
  
The scream echoes off the walls anyway, and he knows he has gone insane. He has lied to everyone else and now he lies to himself. He doesn't make a sound, yet the sound still grows. He clamps his lips together, stops the breath in his lungs. If it's the last thing he does, he will die in silence. The shrill shrieking pounds at him, piercing even the rumbling thunder of approaching guns. With every fearful cry, a tiny piece of his reality is lost.   
  
Cold concrete burns his butchered face, telling him of his freedom. Telling him the screams aren't his. As the bodies drop to the floor around him, he begins to believe the concrete. He blinks the blood from his eyes and looks up into the face of God.   
  
"Stefano. I knew you'd come," he lies with whispered words. "Kill these fuckers for me. Kill them all."   
_   
He was in darkness and he hurt. But if he hurt, he wasn't dead. If he wasn't dead, he must be home.   
  
"Stefano?"   
  
"Easy, boy. Just take it easy."   
  
"The Soledinos. They all dead?" John whispered, stiff lips struggling to form the words.   
  
That dark chuckle filled the room, as familiar to him as his own thoughts.   
  
"Dead and buried, every one. Everything is going to be okay, John. I just want you to rest. Recover your strength. Don't try and think about it. I promise, everything will be okay."   
  
The burning of a needle seared his forearm and John Black let himself sink back beneath the silent darkness. He was home. All that mattered was that he was home.   
  
With a tired sigh, Stefano stood, stretching the kinks from his neck. After two days, he had begun to doubt that John would ever wake up. Still, he had waited. It had been well worth the wait. Now it was time for a shower and a comfortable night's sleep.   
  
"He should sleep through the night, Jarrod," Dimera said, nodding to the nurse who stood beside the bed. "If you run into any trouble, call me immediately. And whatever happens, don't approach him. That man is dangerous. Just watch for any change, and call me if something, anything, occurs."   
  
Stefano spared one last look at the bandaged figure now sleeping peacefully in the center of the big bed. John Black was back. At long last, he was back where he belonged. Now there was only Marlena left to conquer. Feeling better than he had in years, Dimera turned his thoughts to the future and the legacy he would create.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Sitting back from the table, Stefano let the coffee sear his throat, washing down the last of a big breakfast. Truly relaxing for the first time in weeks, he reached into his vest for his first cigar of the day, only to be interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"Sir, he's awake and struggling. I'm afraid he may hurt himself. He's calling for you, and I think you might better get down here."   
  
"Tell him to calm down, I'm on my way." Pleased despite having to forgo his morning smoke, Stefano headed downstairs to see the prodigal returned. If he had had any doubts as to the frame of mind John would be in, they were quickly dispelled.   
  
"God-dammit, let me up. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm going to rip your eyes out if you don't let me up." John thrashed in the center of the bed, yanking hard against the straps that bound his arms.   
  
"Easy, boy. The man is following my orders," Stefano admonished, stepping into the room with a smile on his face.   
  
The bandaged head swivelled to face Dimera's voice, and though the gauze covered the man's eyes, Stefano could still feel the glare of those blue eyes.   
  
"Dammit, Dimera. Get me out of here," John snarled, giving one more frustrated tug at his restraints.   
  
"And a lovely morning to you too, John. I want you to know you've ruined a perfectly good breakfast for me. And watch that mouth of yours- I taught you better than that."   
  
Reluctantly, John's head dropped back to rest on the pillow. With a conscious act of will, he forced the tension in his body to ease. "Sorry, boss," he said more calmly. "But what's going on? Why can't I see? I want up!"   
  
"You're tied down to keep you from hurting yourself," Stefano said, motioning the nurse away as he moved to check the restraints himself. John jerked at his touch, and with a firm hand against the man's chest, Dimera pushed him back down. "It doesn't work if you insist on fighting it! You're going to be fine, so please stop acting like a neanderthal."   
  
"Stefano, I can't see!"   
  
"You can't see because there was some damage to your cheek and eye socket. It's nothing a little surgery won't correct. Now, I'm going to take the dressing off of the left side of your head, and you should see just fine. If you can manage to behave yourself, I'll release the restraints. However- you are not getting up. Do you understand me?"   
  
John's only reply was a grunt that was suspiciously close to a curse.   
  
"Fine, you can just lie there until you're ready to be civilized."   
  
The silence stretched out defiantly, each second reminding Dimera of just exactly how stubborn his best agent could be. However, this was a contest in which Dimera held all the cards.   
  
"I understand," John finally muttered. "I'll just lie here. Lie here like some pathetic little baby. Whatever you say, boss."   
  
"Gracious, even in defeat," Stefano responded dryly, bending to unwind the bandages that wrapped John's face. There had been no need to bind both sides of John's face, but Dimera had wanted to control the first moment in which John could fully gather his bearings. Control the moment, and observe the reactions of the still befuddled mind.   
  
"Nurse, cut the lights down. No sense in blinding him." He pulled away the last strip of gauze, revealing an icy blue eye attempting to stare him down.   
  
"Damn, boss. You look tired!" John burst out.   
  
"I see your manners haven't improved," Dimera noted wryly. "Tell me what you remember John. What's the last thing you remember?"   
  
Keeping his eyes on John's face, Stefano took his time loosening the padded cuffs that held the man pinned to the bed.   
  
The blue eye began to water, and John squinted against the dim light. "The Soledinos. There was no warning. They picked me out at a bar, jumped me coming out. Think they must have busted me a good one upside the head. It's all fuzzy. Think it involved a pretty thorough beating. Then the oldest son, Jesse, he started practicing a little knife-work on me. I kept passing out, and then you were there, and they started dying. Fuckers! Hope you killed them all!"   
  
"Every last one John. The Soledino cartel no longer exists. Is that all you can recall?"   
  
"Jesus, Stefano- you were there. What are you asking me for?"   
  
"Stop being difficult. I need to know what you remember."   
  
"I owe you one. Okay? Happy? I admit it. You came, you got me out, I owe you. Damn, not like I never saved your ass before!"   
  
Stefano rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to wrap his fingers around the man's neck. If he had forgotten how irritating John could be, it was a characteristic he was quickly recalling.   
  
"What, exactly, is the very last thing you remember?" Stefano growled, his patience running dangerously thin.   
  
John turned away, no longer willing to meet his eyes. When he finally spoke, his tone was subdued. "You carried me out. That's the last thing I remember. You were pissed. Really pissed. Hell, you never take a mission yourself! Man, were you pissed....   
  
"Thanks. You know.... Thanks a lot," he said, reaching for Dimera's shoulder with his now freed arm.   
  
_Silky blond hair tickles his bare shoulder, soft lips sliding across the muscles of his back. He aches at her touch, the need for her searing his veins.   
_   
"_If you aren't back in a few days, I'm going to hunt you down and kick your butt." Her silvery laughter echoes through his mind, and he fights to see her face as she slowly drifts away._   
  
John dropped his arm, pinched his fingers around the bridge of his nose. His head continued pounding as the blood roared in his ears. "Who was the woman?" he whispered in confusion.   
  
"Forget the woman, John," Dimera replied, his voice suddenly tense.   
  
"The Soledinos didn't do this to me. It was a mission.... Stefano, who was the woman?"   
  
"She's no one you need to worry about now. Just rest. Whatever you need to know will come back to you with time." Against all good sense, Stefano released John's other arm, watching as he clenched his fist, testing torn and bruised muscles. He would not lose him. The plans were in place, John could not fail him now.   
  
"Stefano, who did this to me? The woman? Who the hell was she?" The panic was back, a sense of urgency he couldn't explain. John tried to lift himself from the bed, to make Dimera tell him what he needed to know. Exhausted muscles failed him and he sank back against the sheets, hating to beg but willing to do it if it would buy him what he needed to know.   
  
"You've lost a few years, John," Stefano said quietly, his eyes giving no hints of the secrets they held. "You went deep under on your last mission, and it's just going to take a while for it all to make sense to you. Don't worry about it. Just let your body heal. When you're ready, I'll answer all of your questions. Until then, I just want you to lie here and rest, okay?"   
  
"Rest, hell! Dimera, I want to know. You owe me that!"   
Dimera merely laughed. "That's not how things work around here, John. If you remember nothing else, you'd better remember that."   
  
"Don't push me, old man. Something for you to remember as well."   
  
"You are in no position to threaten anyone, John. When you can get to my office on your own, perhaps then, we will talk. For now, you will lie in that bed and pretend to like it. I will have breakfast sent in, and I want you to get it down. After that, you will sleep. And if you won't do it voluntarily, I'll put you out myself- it's a promise. Do we understand each other?"   
  
John grit his teeth, again testing muscles that refused to answer. With a resigned sigh, he finally nodded. "We understand each other perfectly, just like always. But Stefano- I will be in your office tomorrow. One way or another, you will give me the answers I want."   
  
"When you can get there under your own power, you can have the answers. Until then, you'll behave yourself. Jarrod there will see that my orders are followed. And Jarrod?" Stefano said, glancing at the large man who stood by the door. "If he gives you any more trouble, call me down.   
  
"John, I do not expect to have to answer such a call," Dimera warned, shooting a hard look at the man in the bed.   
  
"Tomorrow, then," John replied, a promise he meant to keep.   
  
Chapter 15   
  
_He stands in the middle of a living room. No gun, no knife, no nothing. He wonders who he is here to kill. Pastel flower-print on an overstuffed couch. Soft beige carpet under his feet. Framed pictures on the wall, good prints, but not originals. He looks around, surrounded by upper-middle-class suburbia, and doubts there is anyone here who is worth his time.   
  
"I thought you might like to meet your daughter. Her brother's still asleep, but this one woke up to say 'hi'."   
  
So damn beautiful! What's a woman like her doing here? She is most definitely worth his time.   
  
"Aren't you going to say hello?"   
  
She moves closer to him, her very presence causing his temperature to rise. The tiny baby she has wrapped in her arms blinks owlishly up at him, impossibly small fingers reaching out to grab onto a dark curl of chest hair peeking from the open neck of his shirt. He can't help but laugh, the act utterly unfamiliar and utterly good.   
  
"She looks just like her mother," he whispers in awe, his fingers stroking gently against the incredibly fragile cheek of the blue-eyed child.   
  
"She's got her daddy's temperament- unfortunately," the woman teases him, planting a light kiss against his lips. The taste is sweet and he wants to taste more. She draws back, looking at him fondly, leaving him with his need and his want and his heat.   
  
"Thank you," he groans, his arms tightening around the body of the babe in his arms. "Thank you for loving me."   
  
"I've always loved you, Roman. I always will."_   
  
"No!" He jerked awake with a start, hissing in pain as burning ribs slammed him back against the clean white sheets. Panting shallowly and sweating, he tried to recapture the image, the touch, the feel. All that he had left was the pain and the sense that something important had been lost.   
  
"What time is it? How long was I out?" he snapped, fixing his attention on the startled nurse who stood at his bedside.   
  
"You slept a solid ten hours, sir. It's around eight o'clock at night. Do you need to use the bedpan before we try and get some more food down you?"   
  
John wondered if his sudden hatred of the man beside him was unreasonable, then decided he didn't care. "I can get up, Jarrod. Just give me a second. Damn, what's wrong with me?"   
  
"Sir, I don't think that's such a good idea," Jarrod said nervously, not exactly certain of the status of his patient. "You've got at least one broken rib and four or five others are cracked. There was massive bruising, your arms are all cut up, and your just starting to get over a severe concussion."   
  
Ignoring the babbling cretin moving uncertainly toward him, John groaned aloud and rolled his legs toward the floor. He tucked his head to his knees, the dizziness making him nauseous as his vision narrowed to a pinprick.   
  
"Maybe I'd better call Mr. Dimera." Backing away from the figure on the bed, Jarrod made his way cautiously toward the intercom. John Black reeked of danger, and the nurse had the distinct impression that bad things were about to happen. Dimera did not pay him enough to deal with shit like this.   
  
"You touch that phone, I will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it." The words came out hard and cold, and as if to prove he could back them up, John forced himself to his feet.   
  
Jarrod froze in place, afraid to move forward and even more afraid to move back.   
  
John smiled a threat, pleased to see that his powers of persuasion were still in full effect. "Now, where's the can?"   
  
He made his way carefully to the bathroom, hoping he didn't look as weak as he felt. The face that stared back at him from the mirror was his. His face- but not. It's been altered slightly, Sarte's work, no doubt. He wondered if it had been voluntary or a result of repairs to the damage inflicted by the Soledinos. Fuck'n Soledinos, he only wished he could have killed them himself. Jesse, at least. Most especially, Jesse.   
  
Swaying on his feet, he gripped the edge of the sink and tried to see past the bandages, the bruises, the swelling. In his mind's eye, there was another face. Another face that belonged to him in some way he couldn't quite see, couldn't quite place. Grunting in frustration, he debated whether it would hurt to brush his teeth. He couldn't help but chuckle at how pathetic he had become.   
  
Still, at least now he understood his current weakness. Anything not tightly bandaged stood out in purple and black. His arms, his face, his chest- all of it sore and weak and pissing him off with every moment he stood there looking at it. The knowledge that these were the least injured areas did little to inspire confidence. Stefano was going to tell him who was responsible for this and John planned to make the man's death last for days. Of course- it might have been the woman. If it had been the woman.... It wasn't her. She wouldn't hurt him. Whoever she was, he knew she wouldn't hurt him.   
  
He looked into the mirror and the face smiled back at him. "Fuck you," he told it, turning to walk stiffly back to his waiting bed. He'd have his answers in the morning.   
  


****************************************

  
  
_Her fingers move slowly down the row of pearl buttons. Her hazel eyes never leave his face, as inch by inch she reveals herself to him. He wants her so bad. He has wanted her from the moment he first saw her. If the devil has sent her to tempt him, then the devil is about to get his wish. Sometimes the fruit is worth the fall.   
  
His hands skim across golden skin and she shivers at his touch. Her shirt falls in a puddle of silk at her feet, the camisole quick to follow. His heart pounds, the blood surges, the sight of her naked makes him burn. She curls in his arms, innocent and trusting and worth his very soul.   
  
Teeth, nipping his neck as he lays her gently down on the big bed. He's never known how to be gentle. He's never cared to know. He's willing to learn. For her, he is willing to learn anything.   
  
"I can call you John. If that's what you want, I can call you John."   
  
He laughs at a joke that only he knows. He'll learn anything for her. Anything at all. "Call me Roman. John is dead."   
  
With a low moan of pleasure, she wraps her arms around him and welcomes him home._   
  
"Marlena?!"   
  
"Sir?"   
  
Jarrod. That stupid punk Jarrod. Wrong voice, wrong sex- wrong, wrong, wrong.   
  
"Shut up, Jarrod."   
  
"Yes sir."   
  
John stared at the ceiling, grateful to find that the throbbing behind his eyes has receded into insignificance. 'Marlena.' That was the woman's name. 'Marlena.' He rolled the name around on his tongue, enjoying the feel of it.   
  
"Is it morning yet," John asked, suddenly realizing how badly he wanted to see the sun. Too long in the shadows, John Too long in this damn bed. Blinking a bleary eye, he shifted his legs over the side of the bed and used the momentum to lurch to his feet.   
  
"Uh, yes sir. It's a little after nine."   
  
Jarrod looked frightened, and John decided he liked him that way. Swaying slightly, he moved to the bathroom, snapping his orders over his shoulder. "Get some clothes ready. I'm going to grab a shower."   
  
He ignored the muted protests that followed behind him, slamming the bathroom door and trying to figure out how to take a shower with half of his body wrapped in bandages. Inspiration failed him, so he stepped into the tub and allowed the hot water to wash over him, bandages and all. The heat took away the ache, or at least, it dulled the edge. Lathering gently, he leaned against the wall and explored the damage done to his body. When the inventory grew too depressing, he cranked the hot water. The pain of the scalding spray masked the ache of muscles starting to protest bone-deep bruises. It was an odd form of relief, but a relief all the same. He faded slowly away, melting beneath the searing heat.   
  
The cold water brought back, the icy spray making him wonder how long he had been gone. He cut the water and tried to towel off. The pain returned, worse than before. His hands slapped against the tile of the floor and he found himself crouched in the center of the bathroom. "Jarrod, get your ass in here!"   
  
His head dropped to rest against the cool tile and he tried to pretend he could stand up if he really wanted to. Jarrod's hands were on his shoulders, tugging at his arms, trying to get him on his feet. Jarrod really was a fool.   
  
John's hand shot out, grabbing a wrist and twisting viciously. With a terrified squeak, Jarrod joined him on the floor. "Get the meds- whatever you've been giving me. I need a stimulant and some painkillers. You fuck this up, you call Dimera, and I will hurt you in ways you cannot possibly imagine. Do you understand?" he hissed into the scared bunny eyes.   
  
"Yes sir, Mr. Black!"   
  
Those eyes were far too scared to lie, and John released his grip, putting all of his energy into the act of not throwing up. He listened to the frantic footfalls, trying to decide if Jarrod was more afraid of him or of Dimera. He had his answer as Jarrod came running back into the room, a medical bag at his side.   
  
"You're not quite as stupid as you look, you know that?" John muttered, watching the needle as it plunged beneath his flesh.   
  
"Um, thank you."   
  
John's snicker turned into a sigh, the effect of the chemicals speeding through his blood. The pain wasn't gone, but it was no longer important and that was good enough for now. Straightening slowly, he granted Jarrod a friendly smile. "You got my clothes laid out?"   
  
"Yes sir, Mr. Black."   
  
"Then help me off this damned floor. I've got places to go and people to see."   
  


****************************************

  
  
Dimera hung-up the phone, pleased with the arrangements he had made for lunch. A celebration feast was called for and Marlena would be joining him. Her fear for 'Roman' made her compliant, and he planned to use that fear for just a bit longer. When the time came for him to reveal the truth of things, it would simply make it that much more devastating.   
  
A sharp rap on the door drew him from his internal debate over the wine list, and he looked up only to be struck by a feeling of deja vue. Leaning casually against the doorjamb, dressed in the black fatigues common to Dimera's fighting compounds, was his second in command- John Black.   
  
"Like the patch?" John asked with a lopsided grin. "Made the nurse get rid of the bandages around my head- made me feel like an invalid. Besides, the girlies will love the eye patch. Makes me look mysterious."   
  
"What the hell are you doing out of bed! I would have posted guards if I hadn't thought you had more sense."   
  
"Now boss, we did have a date. You said you'd fill me in when I could get here under my own power. Well, I could and I did, so stop whining and pour me a drink. I could use one. Some asshole did a real number on me."   
  
Noting the glazed look in the man's eyes, Dimera asked suspiciously, "That idiot didn't shoot you up, did he. I'm trying to wean you off of the drugs before they become addictive. John, you're going to damage yourself if you ignore what your body tells you."   
  
"No painkillers, boss. Though I did request a little stimulant- what can I say, the nurse couldn't refuse me," John lied.   
  
"No, I'd guess he couldn't. Well, sit down before you fall down. And I do owe you a drink. After all, I am the 'asshole who did a number on you' as you so eloquently put it."   
  
Stefano stood very still, watching with interest as John's face paled and his hands curled into fists. He was suddenly grateful for the heavy bulk of his desk, standing between him and the dangerous man in the doorway.   
  
John lurched forward a half-step, swaying unsteadily without the anchor of the doorjamb to hold him upright. "I'll assume you had a good reason? Care to share it with me before I decide whether to take your head? I had a very messy death planned for the man who did this to me."   
  
Dimera gave a negligent wave in the direction of the couch and moved to the wet bar tucked along the wall. "Sit down, John. You know I always have my reasons- and this was a very good reason indeed."   
  


****************************************

  
  
"Codename, 'The Pawn'? Why a pawn? Why not a bishop? A knight at the very least?" John rubbed at his temples, forcing his brain to accept words it didn't want to hear.   
  
"Nice to see your ego is still intact," Dimera chuckled, relaxing back in his chair.   
  
"Damn, Stefano. I can't believe you let me stay under for 14 years. What the hell were you thinking?" John sighed, raising his second glass of whiskey.   
  
"You managed to escape from my men before the programing was complete, John. You were wandering around in a drugged-out daze and Marlena was only too willing to supply you with a ready to wear identity. An identity as her loving husband. Without the final controls implanted in your mind, you immersed yourself in becoming Roman Brady- not that I can particularly blame you. This happened right as the ISA cracked down and the war with the Soledinos was becoming a true threat. I needed you with me, but it would have created too much heat for 'Roman Brady' to disappear again. Besides, I wanted her watched and protected, and with you committed to being Roman, I knew she couldn't be in better hands. After all, that was your original assignment, why I implanted the memories I did. It was supposed to have been a little reprieve from the constant battling. A little break, watching over a woman who had become important to me."   
  
"That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard of, Stefano," John replied, shaking his head and sipping at his whisky.   
  
Dimera grinned. "That's what you said the first time I told you about it."   
  
"It appears I was right."   
  
"John, the drugs shouldn't have destroyed your memories. It was... an unexpected reaction on your part. You were a bit volatile after the Soledino fiasco, I was hoping it would calm you down."   
  
"Oh, it calmed me down, all right! Hell, Stefano, you turned me into a freak'n cop!"   
  
"Yes, that was a bit- awkward, shall we say? As an arch rival, you were not someone to be casually dealt with. It seemed best to simply leave you be."   
  
"So why'd you bring me back?" John spat out, his words an accusation.   
  
Dimera did not miss hint of anger, nor the feelings it implied. "I got lucky, John. I caught you away from your home ground. You came after me, not the other way around!"   
  
John threw back the last of the whisky, trying to wash away the bitter taste in his throat. "I never did know when to quit," he muttered.   
  
Dimera shook his head. "No, you never did. Do you remember any of it? Any of your time as Brady?"   
  
With a groan, John levered himself to his feet. The room spun around him as he staggered to the bar, filling his tumbler to the rim. "Want another cognac?"   
  
"What do you remember?"   
  
John eyed the golden liquid as if it carried the answers to questions he didn't want asked. With a shrug, he took another gulp. "I remember everything you told me. It comes back as you say the words- like some book I'd read and long forgotten. Sometimes, I think I remember more. It's all twisted up, it's all wrong- but it's there. The first time I held my daughter. The first time we... It's coming back. It's all coming back."   
  
"You don't have a daughter, John. You know that, don't you?"   
  
He could feel Dimera's concern. He could feel his fear. "Yea. I know."   
  
John's throat grew tight, each breath suddenly harsh. He took another drink and pushed the memories away. "By the way, where's my gun? Feel naked without it. Feel like you don't trust me," he said, changing the subject to something safer.   
  
Dimera hesitated, trying to read the slumped figure, trying to see inside. As usual, the brittle shell kept him out. Opening the bottom draw of his desk, he pulled out a beautiful silver inlay 9 millimeter encased in a black leather holster. With a studiously casual gesture, he tossed the weapon to the man at the bar.   
  
John flashed a broad grin, the gun flashing out to take aim at some imaginary target against the far wall. With the flick of his finger, he dropped the clip and checked the rounds. Fully loaded, just as a gun should be. The clip slid home with the barest whisper of sound. He chambered a round and wished for something to shoot. Vaguely disappointed when nothing presented itself, he clicked on the safety and returned the weapon to its holster.   
  
"You kept it," he said, strapping the belt around his waist, feeling as if a missing body part had been returned.   
  
"Of course. It was a gift to you. I'd always hoped to return it."   
  
"Best birthday present I ever got," John said, his fingers absently running across the cool grip, an old habit long forgotten.   
  
"You earned it. Besides, you only turn 21 once. It's good to have you back John. It's very good." Dimera said the words, and in saying them, began to accept them. God, the man even looked like his old self from here. The baggy fatigues hid the heavily bandaged torso and arms. Viewed from the left side, very few bruises showed on his face, and those that did were fading. John was the finest weapon he had ever owned, and he hadn't realized how much he had missed him until he had gotten him back.   
  
"Remember you said that when I hit you up for my back pay," John replied, his face flushing slightly.   
  
"You were on vacation. You don't get paid to be on vacation," Stefano teased, his grin giving lie to his words. He turned his head at a sudden sound from the doorway, and his smile deepened at what he found there. Her face pale and her eyes gleaming- Marlena had arrived for lunch.   
  
Chapter 16   
  
"Roman?"   
  
It was her- the dreams hadn't done her justice. "Marlena?"   
  
"Thank God, you're all right," she whispered, closing the distance between them, her arms wrapping gingerly around his waist.   
  
He sagged against the bar, letting the cold marble take his weight. He couldn't face her, couldn't tell her of his lies. God! She felt so right in his arms. He ran his fingers through her hair and closed his eyes, content to let this moment last forever.   
  
  
Dimera frowned in concern at John's reaction. He rarely worried. He kept too tight a reign on his world for worry to ever intrude. Marlena threatened his control, she threatened his world. For once, Dimera knew worry and he fervently hoped that he wouldn't regret the decision to arm John.   
  
She pulled slowly back from him, needing to see him, needing to know that her nightmares had not come true. Her fingers trailed down his side, feeling the bandages beneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt, feeling the rough leather of the holster. A gun. He carried a gun.   
  
"Roman?" She stared up at him in confusion, noticing for the first time the patch covering his left eye and half his cheek. "What has he done to you?"   
  
John simply stared back, the words refusing to come to him. He would not tell her. He would not be the one to destroy her world.   
  
"I believe you know my other guest, though in a somewhat different role," Stefano cut in, the confusion on John's face all the opening he needed. "I would like to introduce you to John Black, my best agent and right-hand man."   
  
"No," she stated flatly, hazel eyes never leaving John's face. "Roman, he lies. You are Roman Brady! Don't let him do this to you- to us."   
  
"It's not a lie," John finally forced himself to admit. He stepped away from her grasping hands, his head shaking regretfully from side to side. "It's not a lie, Marlena. Stefano took nothing from me. I was never Roman Brady. It was an assignment, a job. I never remembered my past as Roman because it was never mine to remember."   
  
"Marlena, Roman Brady is dead," Dimera said. "He has been dead for over a decade. He died on the island- I buried him myself." John shot him a startled look which he ignored. This wasn't what he had planned, but he could make it work. When this was over and done, Marlena would be his. If John did his part, Marlena would be his.   
  
This could not be happening, she would not let it happen. Marlena's head snapped around, hatred on her face. "You liar! You think I wouldn't know my own husband?"   
  
"Oh, I think you knew your husband only too well," Stefano replied with an ugly grin. "In your grief for him, you remade a John into his image. I had planted the seeds of Roman's memories in John so that he could get close to you, watch over you for me until I was free to come to you. You took those few memories and remade John into the husband you so desperately wanted. He didn't know any better- he had wandered away from my men before the conditioning was complete. He was a walking wound, a man with no place to call home. You offered him all any man could want and he took it out of desperation. If he became Roman Brady, it was because you taught him how, Marlena. No wonder you couldn't tell him from Roman! You made him over into your version of Roman Brady."   
  
Marlena paled, all the old doubts rushing back full force. "No! Nothing you say can be trusted, Stefano. This is Roman Brady. I know him as I know my own soul."   
  
"You know nothing, Marlena- nothing of who and what he really is. He is no more Roman than is the fantasy man you created from your own memories and desires. But believe as you will- it makes no difference to either myself or John. Now, the cook is holding dinner. If you still care to join us, your presence is always welcome."   
  
With an ironic bow in Marlena's direction, Dimera walked quickly from the room, relieved to find John following closely on his heels.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Damn! His ribs were on fire, the whisky churning in his gut like molten lava. The last thing he wanted to do was sit across the table from her and make polite conversation. John looked everywhere but at her face, but he knew that she was watching him, waiting for some sign it was all a trick, a plan.   
  
_He flashes her a sly wink and she grins in sudden understanding. She never doubted him, not for a moment. Her love is too strong, too pure to have been wrong.   
_   
_His gun lashes out, the cold metal falling hard against the back of the old man's head. Soft fingers grab his hand and they run, never looking back.   
_   
"_I love you, Roman. I knew that he lied...."   
_   
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! His trembling hand knocked against a crystal glass, red wine spreading across the white lace of the table cloth. He stared stupidly at the growing stain, wondering whose blood he had spilled this time.   
  
"John? John, are you feeling up to this?" Stefano's deep voice growled out, jarring him back to the present, back to his new reality.   
  
"Yea. Yea, I'm fine," John replied, trying to make his back straighten, his left hand pushing hard against his screaming ribs.   
  
The drugs were wearing off, whatever John had taken, whatever was keeping him on his feet. Stefano could see it in the sweat dripping off his forehead, could sense it in the way every breath seemed to cause pain. The man had to hold on a little bit longer, just a little bit longer and Marlena would know the truth.   
  
"John, I was going to let this wait, but I have a little gift for you."   
  
John looked up wearily, not liking it when Dimera turned his attention to Marlena.   
  
"You see, my dear," Stefano continued, smiling over at Marlena from his place at the head of the long table, "one of my men objected to John's return. He is the one responsible for the damage done to my lieutenant. I've been holding him, knowing that John would wish to deal with him... personally."   
  
Marlena simply glared back at Dimera, wondering what he was getting at. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John's face darkened, his visible eye icing over. John had never taken a physical challenge to his person lightly and Stefano had expected this time to be no different. It was gratifying to know he could still read the man so easily. With perfect timing, a knock sounded at the door and he indulged himself in a pleased smile. "Care to get that for me, John?"   
  
Adrenalin surging, John eased from his chair, hardly noticing ribs that had constrained his every movement just moments before. He reached the door, breathing deeply, oxygenating his body in unconscious contemplation of the violence he felt building. He could taste it in the air, the metallic bite of fear. The fear wasn't his.   
  
From her seat at the table, Marlena watched him, uncertain of what was happening, but attuned to the rising tension in the room. Something was wrong with Roman- something in the way he moved, the hunger in his stride. A cold sense of dread shot through her and she knew she should look away. Her eyes never left his dark form.   
  
Two guards flanked Davies, shoving him forward through the now open door. The man looked fearfully around, trying to scuttle back from John's fast approaching figure.   
  
_The boot smashes into his back, grinding him down against the cold concrete floor. A sneering face, a hard fist, the sting of a needle. The needle brings the memories and the memories are all bad._   
  
The smile was on his lips, lending no warmth to the blue of his eyes. John crashed into Davies, grabbing him by his collar, shaking him as a terrier would a rat. Davies' feet nearly left the floor and he lashed out in panic. A lucky blow, it took John in his blinded eye. The grate of bones was so loud he could hear it and he found himself on his knees, shaking his dazed head. White fire seared his vision, the exhilaration building. He wanted his fucking knife, it took a knife to do this right. Thighs drove like pistons and he shoved the ground away. His hands found that thick neck, the move instinctive. He forced Davies back, an awkward dance across the Parque floor. Hands tore ineffectively at his grip as he slammed his prey against the table, bending him over until his back pressed into the fine wood. Dimly, he heard a woman screaming and he released the neck, rained his fists down into the face before him. The force of the blows echoed through the room, a beautiful counterpoint to the screams. This was the poetry of hell.   
  
No resistance left and through the white-fire haze he watched blood flowing over pristine lace. "Fucker," he whispered, his hand gliding up from his thigh bearing steel- blue and silver and cold. "Mess with the bull, boy..."   
  
He shoved the barrel into the screaming mouth and pulled the trigger. Pulled and pulled and pulled, backing away from the spraying fountain of blood. He emptied the 11 shot clip and when he was done they'd need a sponge to get what remained of Davies' face off of the table. He thought it unlikely that anyone would want to use that table again anyway. The laughter shrieked inside his head, Godhead again achieved.   
  
John balanced on the balls of his feet, acrid gunsmoke holding him in a lover's embrace. The feral grin was still on his face, the muscles rippling beneath his skin as icy fire flickered in his synapsis. He turned, hunting for more meat on which to vent the power that pulsed through his veins and found her, staring up at him with wounded eyes.   
  
The strength drained as quickly as it had come and he had to lean against the table in an effort to keep his feet. Memories again. Always the wrong memories, always at the wrong time.   
  
"_Dad, come on! You promised you'd teach me how to throw a curve ball. What are you and mom doing in there, anyway?"   
_   
"_Daddy! It's my senior prom! Nobody has to be home by midnight. And don't you dare give Tony the third degree when he comes to pick me up. The last boy you did that to never asked me out again!"   
_   
"_Daddy, what's a hickey?"   
_   
"_I could never leave you, Marlena. Never. I'll be back. I swear it."_   
  
He holstered his spent weapon, rubbing his hand against the tough fabric of his pants in a futile attempt to remove the blood. She stumbled from her chair, hazel eyes never blinking. As pale as death, she backed slowly away from him. There was nothing for him to say, the proof of what he was spread across the table in the gore of flesh and blood. Turning away from those accusing eyes, he stalked from the room, wishing he had saved one last bullet for himself.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Two guards supported his weight, half-dragging him back to his room and he dimly remembered collapsing upon leaving the dinning room. The men carrying him were respectful, but he could feel their fear. He briefly considered killing them- just for the hell of it, the escape. Escape for him always seemed to come in the form of spilled blood- his own, someone else's- it didn't really matter. Blood wouldn't help him now. He couldn't wash himself clean, not in an ocean of it. Not after what he'd done to her.   
  
He had raped her. Oh sweet Jesus, he had raped her. Raped her mind, her body- all of those years taking her through a lie. Taking her in the form of the man who now rotted away, locked in a cell floors below. Damn Stefano, for letting him do this to her. Damn him for making him stop.   
  
He groaned aloud as the men shifted him gently into the bed, the anguish more mental than physical. He opened his eyes to see Stefano leaning worriedly over him and realized that he must have passed out for a time. The anger flared and he roughly grabbed Stefano by the collar. "You set me up, didn't you? You knew exactly what would happen when I saw Davies. Why in the hell did you have to hurt her like that?!"   
  
"And what exactly would you have had me do, John?" Dimera replied, tugging free of the weak grasp of the man in the bed. "Do you really think you could have hidden the truth from her now that your mind is clear? Would you have wanted to try? Which would have hurt her more?"   
  
John closed his eyes and turned away. He had no right to be mad at Dimera, the blame for this was his own. The way she had looked at him as he had walked from the room... "What now, Stefano? What are you going to do to her? To my... to the kids?"   
  
"Marlena needs time, I plan to give her that time. Once she comes to understand her situation, to adjust to it, we will leave here. Perhaps Paris, a fresh start. I will make her a queen, John. Eventually, she will come to me. She will see that it is her only choice. You know I always get what I want in the end."   
  
"Yea, you always do," John replied with a bitter laugh.   
  
"Stefano, I've got to get out of here," he said, looking up with eyes gone dead. He was no longer willing to think about this. It was over, it was done. Nothing to do but move on. "I gotta get my head back together. I can't be around her- I don't even want to see her. Give me a mission, something to do. Something ugly."   
  
Dimera smiled, the words pleasing him as nothing else could have. "John, I won't make you see her, but the only thing I'm going to give you right now is at least a month of laying around, flat on your back, healing up. I know you were as high as a kite in there. We've got to get the drugs out of your system. Let your body repair itself." Stefano shook his head at John's stupidity. He was too inherently unstable to be playing with chemicals, he always had been. Dimera still didn't know what happened in the child's past to create such a seething rage and had long since given the inquiry into the issue up as too dangerous. But one thing was certain, a mind as twisted as John's did not need the addition of pharmaceuticals.   
  
"Now I want you to take it easy. I have to go to the mainland in the morning- a minor emergency. Tomorrow night, we'll have dinner and I'll fill you in on business. Until then, you've got the run of the place. But take it easy- and I've ordered that you receive no drugs. If you can't move without them, take it as a sign that you probably shouldn't be moving. Agreed?"   
  
"Whatever you say, Stefano," John replied, too bone weary to fight anymore. Closing his eyes, he tried to forget the way she had looked at him.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Marlena huddled in the center of the bed, her eyes closed in an attempt not to see the evidence of his lies. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She would have known. After all these years, she would have known if she shared her bed with a stranger. She would have always known- even at the beginning....   
  
"_I'm going to take a shower. A cold shower."   
  
He stands there, oozing testosterone and gazing up at her with those shy little boy eyes of his. She can't help but chuckle. "Well- whatever works for you."   
  
"Care to join me?" he asks, not quite willing to meet her eyes, not quite willing to admit he's not joking.   
  
She's not quite willing to admit that she's considering it. "That's okay."   
  
When the phone rings, he beats her to it, the shirt draped carelessly over his shoulder. Oh my, the way his muscles ripple beneath his skin, constantly in motion. She wonders what he would do if she touched him. Her fantasy is so vivid, she almost fails to see the tatoo, blazing out at her from his right shoulder blade. The phoenix, rising from the flames. The phoenix reborn- again and again and again. Her breath catches in her throat and she fears she's going to be sick.   
  
Panic holds her in her place, afraid to make a move while he is in the same room with her. How could she ever have hoped he was Roman? How could she have ever thought she could trust him?   
  
"I'm going to go out, scout around a little bit. Wait here- I'll be right back."   
  
Marlena nods mutely, trying to keep the fear from her eyes, trying not to tremble at the sound of his voice. The second he clears the door, she runs for the phone.   
  
"Bo! Thank God! Bo, he's Stefano! John Black is Stefano. I saw the tatoo- he's really Stefano Dimera!"   
  
"Marlena, get out of there! I'll be there as soon as I can, but don't wait for me. Just get out. Go to the authorities. Whatever you do, you have to get away from him." Bo's voice crackles through the phone lines, anger and fear making his words harsh. She nods, already knowing what she has to do. She runs to the door and he is standing there waiting. She's too late. She's far too late.   
  
"What's wrong?" he asks, looking at her suspiciously. Did he hear? Does he know? He could do anything to her out in the middle of the woods- there is no one here to stop him.   
  
"Nothing's wrong," she replies, trying to smile, trying to back away from him. He follows her into the room, his eyes never leaving her face.   
  
"You don't seem the type to panic."   
  
"Oh, you know how women are," she stutters, her fingers finding the knife he left sitting on the desktop. She tucks her hands behind her back and prays that he didn't see.   
  
He keeps coming after her, long smooth strides, stalking his prey. "I know how you are. I know how you react. Right now, you're acting just as I would suspect if you had seen the tatoo on my shoulder. Isn't that right, 'Doc'."   
  
Her arm lashes out wildly, the knife arcing toward his face. His big hand catches her easily, the force of his grip threatening to snap her bones. With a muffled groan, she drops the knife and he shoves her back into a chair. He leans over her, snatching the knife from the floor. He doesn't need the knife. His size, his strength, they are more than enough of a threat. The way he looks at her with those burning eyes, his rage at her betrayal a force that strikes at her like a fist. "I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry. I panicked," she says, her words jumbling together in the rush to spit them out.   
  
He leans in close, the knife at her throat almost as an afterthought. The knife isn't necessary, but it's a natural appendage to his hand. She watches as his eyes turn black and she knows that he has to fight to keep the knife from drawing blood. She feels the heat pouring off of him, the need and the desire and the rage. It takes everything she has not to scream.   
_   
"Damn him!" Marlena curled herself into a ball in the center of the bed, cursing Dimera, cursing herself, cursing Roman. It couldn't be true. She had gone through this once before. She had laid all doubts to rest. Roman was her husband. He was alive. Dimera was playing his sick stupid games again and she would not let him win. It was a lie. It had to be a lie. She would have known....   
  
_She has always loved watching him as he sleeps. It has been too long since she has had the chance. Ever so gently, she runs her fingers across the clean planes of his face, her touch drawing a smile from his lips. Moonlight from the window reflects back at her as one blue eye slowly opens.   
  
"I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep," she whispers, brushing her lips across his.   
  
"Mm..." he moans. "I think I could get used to waking up like this."   
  
"You'd better," she laughs, snuggling against him, feeling his strong arms pull her close.   
  
"What were you thinking about?" he asks, playing with a strand of golden hair that lays across his chest.   
  
"Nothing important. Go back to sleep."   
  
"Everything about you is important. Tell me."   
  
"You just... you look so different. It's a little strange, to lay in your arms in this bed we always shared. It's all so familiar, but it's different too." She feels him tense, worries that her words have hurt him. The last thing she wants is to hurt him.   
  
"I'm sorry," he finally replies.   
  
"Don't be. It wasn't a complaint. I love you, Roman. That will never change." Tightening her hold on him, she wishes she'd never said anything.   
  
"When did you know? In your heart, when did you know I was really Roman?" he asks, his voice distant and remote.   
  
"I loved you before I knew you were Roman."   
  
"That's not what I asked," he replies, shifting away from her in the big bed.   
  
She grabs his hand and tugs him back. "When I saw the picture. I knew it was you when I saw the picture."   
  
She feels the tired sigh that echoes through his body and sees the shadowed outline of his head shaking back and forth. "I didn't know until you told me. It's still hard for me to believe. Am I so different now? My wife, my family, my children- am I so different that no one could tell it was me? Hell, I couldn't tell! What did Dimera do to me, Doc? What if I can't trust myself to be with you now?"   
  
She had expected to hear anger, and his fear surprises her. Anger would have been preferable. "It's okay, baby. It's okay," she whispers, her hands softly caressing the tight muscles of his chest. "You aren't different. Not in any way that matters. I should have known it was you from the start. You are the only man I could ever love, and I should have known it was you from the start."   
  
"Were you ever afraid? Did I ever make you afraid of me?" he asks, peering into her face, refusing to let her draw him down beside her.   
  
"Never, Roman. I could never be afraid of you." She lies, knowing it is a lie he needs to hear, needs to believe.   
  
He stares down at her for a long time. "I would never hurt you. Never."   
  
"I know," she replies, smiling as he finally relaxes and eases back down into his place beside her.   
  
"I'm sorry I'm not the same man you married," he mutters as she tucks her head beneath his chin.   
  
She listens to the even beating of his heart, letting him drift back down into the world of dreams. 'You're the man I love. That's all that matters,' she thinks, as sleep comes to claim her too.   
_   
It had been 14 years. The differences were small, insignificant. In 14 years, he would have given her a sign. In 14 years, she would have known if the man she loved was Dimera's trained killer.   
  
"_Wow! Marlena, you should have seen this guy! The man is a machine!"_ _Abe storms through the kitchen door, a 12-pack of beer in one hand a bag of chips in the other. Lexie is on his heels, smiling apologetically and carrying a platter of dip.   
  
"The testosterone is in overdrive tonight," Lexie cuts in with a laugh.   
  
"Well you two should have seen it. He broke every PT record the department had- including the ones he set the first time around! Jeesh, man, when did you get to be such a crack shot? 100% on the range and a full second faster than anyone has ever finished it before!"   
  
"I've been practicing," Roman replies, shouldering his way into the kitchen. He buzzes a kiss against Marlena's cheek and sets the pizza boxes down on the table.   
  
"I take it the tests went well?" she says with a laugh, dropping the silverware in a pile beside the paper plates.   
  
"I told the Commander there was no need to re-test Roman before they let him back on the force. Did he listen to me? Nooo. Guess you showed him! Damn, you were a machine out there. It was almost scary!"   
  
Abe's grin is carefree, and Marlena can't understand why she feels so unsettled. She glances at Roman, sees his quick wink, and smiles back. Really, she has to stop overanalyzing things! _   
  
Roman was a cop. It was what he had trained for. He was supposed to be good. He had always been good. It didn't make him a killer. She would have known.   
  
_Case File: Roman Brady   
__Subject was involved in an on-duty shooting. After a short foot pursuit, officer shot and killed a robbery suspect. Suspect was shot 4 times at a range of approximately 40 feet. Suspect was DOA.__ This officer appears indifferent to the incident._   
  
_Case File: Roman Brady   
__Subject was involved in an on-duty shooting.__ The subject of this interview opened fire, killing the suspect with a single shot to the head.__ The subject currently shows little emotional response to the shooting incident_   
  
_Case File: Roman Brady   
__The officer opened fire and both men were killed, suffering from multiple gunshots at close range_. _I am coming to suspect that his indifference to the consequences of such violence is real and not due to repression of such feelings or a reluctance to discuss them. __I have my doubts that the current shooting incident was justified. Given the lack of witnesses, no one but the officer involved may ever know what really happened._   
  
After 14 years, she would have known....   
  
_He stands in the center of the room, bruised and battered and triumphant. He sucks up every molecule of air until there is nothing left for her to breathe. She watches as he slams the screaming man down, bending him back across the table. Her own cries are lost beneath the high-pitched wail of fear. He is smiling, his fist falling again and again, splattering blood and crunching bone.   
_   
"_Mess with the bull, boy...."   
_   
_The gunfire cracks out, over and over and over. She can feel it echoing in her soul. A red mist rises from what used to be a living human being. He stands within the crimson haze, eyes burning, teeth bared- reveling in the destruction. He is not Roman. He never has been._   
  
After 14 years, she would know.   
  
"Marlena?" The soft click of a switch, and artificial light filled the room.   
  
"Get away from me. You are a monster. A hideous twisted monster."   
  
She refused to look up, refused to face him. If she ignored him long enough, perhaps he would go away. The feather mattress sank down, his heavy weight making its presence known. Feeling sick, she scooted away. Finally, she forced herself to meet his eyes.   
  
"I need to know you're all right," Stefano said, making no move to close the distance she had put between them.   
  
Marlena's laughter came out as a sob. "How can I be 'all right'? You just showed me my whole life has been a lie. How can you possibly think that I am 'all right'?!"   
  
Her eyes were red and tears streaked her face. It wasn't fair that she was still the most incredible woman he had ever known. With a sigh, Dimera shook his head. "I'm sorry you found out this way. I told you before, it was not what I wanted."   
  
"Bullshit!" she spat at him. "It was exactly what you wanted! But then, everything that happened was because you wanted it. You did this. You planned this! It was no 'accident' when Roman died. You did that to him. You wanted it to happen! Just like it was no 'accident' when John Black came to town- with my husband's memories, my husband's feelings, my husband's desires! All of this is because of you."   
  
"Marlena, be reasonable. Why would I have wanted John to take Roman's place? That was not my doing. Nor was it my fault that John shot that man down in front of you. It's his nature, Marlena. Don't blame me for that."   
  
"You bastard," she snarled, kicking out at him with one long leg. She wanted him gone. She wanted everything he had ever touched gone.   
  
Her bare foot caught him in the ribs, the blow hard enough to make him gasp. His temper flared, and he clamped down on her ankle, jerking her to him across the slick surface of the satin comforter. Sharp nails cut into his face, her frantic hands pounding at him. "Stop it!" he shouted, pushing her down on the bed, using his bulk to make her be still. "Marlena, stop it!"   
  
She struggled beneath him, her blond hair flying about her face, the warmth of her body driving away his ability to think. "If you want to blame someone, blame yourself," he continued, his voice gruff with need and anger. "The battle with Roman was always a battle over you. And John chose to be with you because it was what you wanted. It was 'who' you wanted him to be. Everything that has happened is because of you, Marlena. Roman fought for you. John fought for you. I fought for you. All of this, for you!"   
  
"I don't want you," she said, staring up at him with golden eyes.   
  
"You will. Before this is finished, you will."   
  
She flinched, the pain in her arm sharp and hot. Her eyes blinked slowly, Dimera moving further and further away though his body still lay on top of her, weighting her down, making it hard to breathe. Dimly, she could her Sarte's southern drawl, the words too faint to understand. She blinked once more and then she faded away.   
  
"Feisty!" Sarte said, twirling the syringe between his fingers. He suppressed a chuckle as Dimera slowly rose to his feet, his arousal plain to see.   
  
"Your commentary is both unneeded and unwanted, Sarte. I'd suggest you shut up."   
  
Sarte merely grinned. "At least she didn't pretend John was her husband. It appears your little exhibition was successful. You must be pleased."   
  
"I will be more pleased in the morning," Dimera replied, straightening his tie and finally managing to bring his breathing under control. His hooded eyes swept over her unconscious body. Perfection. Sheer perfection.   
  
"You know what I want you to do?" Stefano asked, not bothering to look in Sarte's direction.   
  
"Oh yes, I know exactly what to do."   
  
"I will have it all, Sarte. Everything I have ever dreamed of. I will have it all."   
  
Chapter 17   
_In the dark, the visions come. He wears another man's face and he stands outside another man's home. He walks in the back door, the twins under his arms. Laughter echoes and he hugs them tight, unwilling to let them go. In his mind's eye, he sees his face shift, growing cold, growing into the face of a killer. This is the face he was born to.   
_   
_He pulls his children closer- so close they break. The pieces crumble in his arms, drifting to dust before they can hit the floor. The laughter mocks him and he follows it through twisting halls. He climbs the steps, finds himself at the bedroom door. His door. His wife. He opens the door and she is there, as beautiful as he has ever seen her.   
_   
_Marlena glows. Her white gown shifts with the invisible wind, revealing her form. The creamy skin of a thigh, the dark flash of a nipple, and he is hard and hot and aching. He goes to her, to her waiting arms. In her eyes, there is only fear.   
_   
_He tries to scream a warning as his body flies toward hers, but it is far too late for redemption. He wrenches her into his embrace, forcing her down on the bed as she struggles to free herself. He tears into her and the echoes of laughter become the echoes of screams. He penetrates her, feels the blood welling, the familiar release of violence. His body shudders one last blissful convulsion and he stares down into dead eyes.   
_   
He awoke, retching over the side of the bed, emptying the sparse contents of his stomach and continuing to dry heave until the lack of breath forced him to pass out. When he came to, a cold towel was over his face.   
  
"Take it easy, Mr. Black. You're going to be okay. Just take it easy."   
  
"What happened?" he croaked. "Where's Marlena? What happened to her?"   
  
"It was just a dream, sir. It's okay, it was just a dream."   
  
John lay still, shaking as the last of the adrenalin pumped its way through his system. "Where's Dimera?"   
  
"He's already left for the mainland, sir. He left instructions for you to take it easy."   
  
He finally managed to catch his breath, clear for the first time in his life about what he had to do.   
  
"Give me a shot, I need to get out of this damned bed."   
  
"Sorry, sir. Mr. Dimera gave strict instructions..."   
  
John choked him off, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing until the man's face began to turn blue. "I don't give a shit what he said, Jarrod. And I'm getting damn tired of having this same fucking conversation with you every time I wake up! Get me the drugs."   
  
The nurse's hand shook, tearing a jagged hole as the needle broke through the skin. With a grimace, John snatched the jar of pills and levered himself to his feet, grimly aware that Stefano was right. Without the drugs, he wasn't even able to get out of bed. Of course, that was now a moot point. He pulled on black fatigues, not bothering with the effort of a shower. If he stopped moving, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to start again.   
  
John strapped his gunbelt around his waist, feeling Jarrod's frightened eyes watching him. He debated shooting the man and remembered he was out of ammo. That would have to be remedied. The pain began to recede and John strode out the door, his steps almost steady. The armed guard leaning against the opposite wall straightened in sudden surprise, his hand creeping toward the gun at his side.   
  
"What are you doing here?" John snapped.   
  
"Uhh, Mr. Dimera said I should make sure you're okay. He didn't seem to think you would get out of bed, sir."   
  
The stocky guard was confused, clearly uncertain of John's status. John was in no mood to make the man's life any easier. "Well Dimera was wrong, wasn't he? Give me a couple of clips, I'm out."   
  
"I think I'm supposed to stay with you, sir."   
  
"Fine, do what you want. Just give me the damn clips." The man hesitantly complied, falling in behind John as he headed down the hall. "Where's Dr. Evan's room? I need to see her."   
  
Stopping at the indicated door, John thrust it open without knocking. She was there, sitting by the window, startled eyes watching him. So fucking beautiful...   
  
John's hand snapped out, grabbed the guard by the throat. He jerked the man into the room, kicking the door shut behind them. As the guard stumbled forward, John's knee took him in the midriff, dropping him to the floor. The gun was in his hand and he slammed the butt down on the unprotected head. Two hard kicks to the downed man's ribs delivered purely for spite, the body on the floor clearly unconscious, before he allowed himself to look at her again.   
  
Not even breathing hard, John glared across the room at his lover. "Get dressed."   
  
"Tell me it's a lie," she said, stalking across the room to stand before him. "Tell me it was all a lie- make me believe it- 'Roman'."   
  
Scant inches separated them and he didn't need to touch her to feel the warmth of her flesh. Her eyes spat fire and he wondered if she would believe him if he lied. Oh God, how he wanted to lie....   
  
"My name's not Roman," was his cold reply.   
  
"You bastard!" Her hand flashed out to slap his lying face, but he moved faster than she could ever hope to.   
  
He grabbed the upraised arm, twisting it sharply up behind her back. He saw the grimace of pain, used his grip to pull her close, hard up against his body. His mind burned with barely leashed fury and the press of her tight against him made the heat rise. He wanted to take her, to lose himself inside of her, use her to drive away the demons in his soul. He growled in the back of his throat and roughly shoved her away. "Get dressed. Please... we don't have much time. I'm going to get you out of here."   
  
For a second, she wavered, wondering if she could have been wrong. No, the man staring coldly down on her reeked of danger. He was not Roman, not her husband. Still, she found herself obeying his instructions, unsure of exactly why. Knowing only that if he had wanted to hurt her, he already would have.   
  


****************************************

  
  
He walked her toward the terrace doors overlooking the long sandy beach. Two guards snapped to attention at their approach and he dismissed them with a nod. Turning to chat with Marlena, he pretended not to notice the puzzled looks on the faces of the armed men.   
  
"Uhh, sir? We weren't informed you were up and around yet. Can we help you?"   
  
"No," replied John coldly. "Just felt like seeing the sun. Been cooped up inside these walls for too long. Dr. Evans is along to make sure I don't over do it. You don't have a problem with that, do you?" he asked, squaring up on the man in a move that could only be seen as threatening.   
  
"Uh, no sir, I guess not. Have a nice walk, sir."   
  
"See what a reputation for violence can do for you," he whispered sardonically to Marlena as they strolled casually down the steps toward the beach. She didn't respond, which failed to surprise him.   
  
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.   
  
"Just a little further. If I remember correctly, the airstrip should be a little further inland. I'll hide you in a maintenance building- I've got a little business to take care of before we leave," John said, wishing it didn't hurt to talk to her.   
  
"Someone else to kill?"   
  
"What's one more?" he responded, goading her for reasons beyond both his comprehension and his control. The airstrip came into view, cutting off further comment. The jet was waiting, fueled and ready to go in case of emergency- just as John had known it would be.   
  
Alone now, he ambled back toward the estate, making no effort to hide. The guards at the front door were no more certain how to deal with him than those on the terrace had been. "Hey, what are you doing out here? Uh, sir."   
  
"Needed some fresh air. I came around from the back. Think I've had enough, though. Time to head in." Squinting at one of the guards, John gave a look of vague recognition. "Do I know you? You look familiar."   
  
"No sir. Here, let me get the door," the man stammered fearfully. John suppressed a grin, now certain the man must have been in on one of his beatings. Not like he would have remembered him, they had pretty much been faceless blurs- meat to be tolerated or extinguished. With a wave, he reentered the house.   
  
Out of sight, John leaned against a wall for support, dry swallowing a couple of stimulants. He avoided the painkillers, they tended to blur his thinking. Stefano was right about the drugs, he didn't need chemicals to achieve insanity. Drawing a deep breath, he steeled himself and moved silently for the basement.   
  
The heavy metal door pulled shut behind him with only the barest hint of protest and he crept carefully down the stairs. Soundproof, the door was meant to prevent any cries from the cellar from disturbing those above. That door was going to serve him well. Weapon drawn, he swung around the corner, drawing a bead on the men in the control room. His first shot took the man facing him through the right eye. So quick it sounded as if he only fired once, the second bullet tore through the back of the second man, shattering his spine. No time for an alarm to be given, but John knew that a normal shift contained three men and there was no sign of his last target. Damn!   
  
Then he heard it- shallow breathing from behind the desk. He eased forward soundlessly, barely managing to hold his fire as the terrified face came into view. A kid. Just a kid, frozen in place still clutching the printer cable he had been replacing. John decided not to waste a bullet, the boy's body slipping silently to the ground as the hard metal of the gun butt impacted against the side of his head. The kid was still alive and John let him stay that way for the moment.   
  
Moving slowly down the quiet corridor, he tried to avoid the memories of his last time in this place. His world had died the last time he was here- he didn't need to relive that. The sharp creak of a mattress spring grated on his nerves and he had to fight to control the shaking in his arm as the stimulants surged full force through his system. His head felt like it was going to explode- he decided he liked the buzz. Drawing up at the last cell, he once again stared into the face that used to be his. He found that his hatred for that face had not diminished.   
  
"What are you doing here? I see you're back in uniform, you bastard," spat the man in the cell.   
  
John decided that face would look much better with a bullet through it. "Why am I here? I'm here because I owe you one- and I always pay my debts."   
  
Roman stared through the bars at his executioner. At this point, death would be a release- but he still fought the notion, knowing that he was the only hope for Marlena now. Besides, only a cruel universe would allow the man who had stolen everything from him to take his life as well. "You coward. Are you going to shoot me down through the bars, or do you have the guts to face me, one-on-one?"   
  
John smiled coolly back at him, holstering his weapon and drawing the keys from his belt.   
  
The cell door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. Roman lunged at him- just as John had expected. Putting his weight behind the effort, he slammed the heavy bars forward, sending Roman crashing to the floor. He stepped quickly into the cell, delivering a savage kick to the man's gut. The air exploded from Roman's lungs and he doubled over on the cold concrete, gasping for breath. It took every bit of John's control not to smash the man at his feet into a bloody corpse. This was man who had taken all that he was, the man who owned all that he coveted. "Get up," he ordered, unable to call the man by name.   
  
Roman struggled to his feet, painfully aware that he was no match for the hired gun, despite the wounds he knew must lurk beneath the black uniform. Still, he did not plan to go down without a fight.   
  
Roman braced himself for another futile attack and against all instinct, John backed away, raising his arms above his shoulders in a gesture of surrender. When he spoke, he had to force the words from his throat. "Roman, Marlena needs you. Don't be stupid."   
  
Understanding came slowly, Roman sensing that something odd was at work. "What do you want?" he asked suspiciously.   
  
"I want your help. Marlena needs your help. You can kill me now and fail her. Or you can help me and get her out of here. Get her home, back to her children- back to your children. It's your choice."   
  


****************************************

  
  
John strode purposefully back to the front door, followed by an armed guard who walked with his cap pulled low. He had given in to the need for the pain pills and he now seemed to float across the floor. Lord, how he loved the drugs! Filled with power, he was untouchable, invincible. He descended on the guards at the door like the wrath of God. They turned, sensing danger, and his hand flashed upwards, spewing death from his automatic. The thought of subtlety was foreign, subtlety was for the weak. He slammed the doors open wide, heading for the plane, not bothering to glance down at the dead men he left in his wake.   
  
Roman trailed behind, stunned by the brutal force of the man he followed. Dead men in the cell block, dead men at the door. Roman knew violence- knew it intimately. He had killed in his day, when he had to, when there was no other option. Always, the taking of life had left a sickness in his stomach, a sorrow at a life cut short. The man in front of him rolled through the house like a force of nature, giving no more notice to the bleeding bodies than would a hurricane. He felt ill at the thought that this, this creature, had reared his children, had been with Marlena. Without conscious thought, he raised his weapon to point at the dark head directly in front of him.   
  
His senses screamed a warning and John whirled to one side. His gun took Roman in temple, knocking him to the ground. "Challenge me again and I won't even bring her your body," he hissed. Jerking the downed man roughly to his feet, he shoved him toward the airstrip where Marlena was waiting.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Marlena peered through a crack in the rough planks of the maintenance shed, certain that something must have gone wrong. She rolled her eyes at the understatement, everything in her life suddenly gone wrong. In the distance, the crackle of gunfire sounded, and the guards around the airstrip turned to look back at the estate. There were so many guards- too many guards. He should have been back by now. He wouldn't have brought her down her just to leave her alone. She smacked her hand against the wood, half-fearing he wouldn't return- half-fearing he would.   
  
And then she saw him. She saw _them_. It couldn't be. Roman. Roman Brady as she had first known him. Behind him, the stranger- John. As they walked casually toward the curious guards, John raised his a gun toward Roman's unprotected head. The pistol belched fire and Marlena sprinted out the door.   
  


****************************************

  
  
The two men walked down the hill toward the milling guards. John could sense their confusion as they tried to determine if the two men of them were friend or foe. The uniforms made them hesitate, just as he had known they would. His own weapon was hidden by Brady's broad back. John smiled, yelling a cheerful hello as they drew closer. The smile was still on his face as he raised his weapon and opened fire.   
  
Two shots and two men dropped, their bodies unmoving. The remaining guards scattered, even as Marlena burst from the shed where he had left her to wait. Cursing, John shoved Roman toward her, laying down cover fire as shots begin to pluck at the ground around them.   
  
Roman flew across the scant yards separating him from Marlena. She was oblivious to the gunfire, cracking with regularity, and he threw his arms around her trying to shield her from the flying shells. His steps never slowed as he shoved her back behind the meager protection of the wooden shed. Holding her tight, he was lost in the feel of her after all of their years apart. "Doc?"   
  
A heavy body crashed against the wall next to him, shaking the entire building. John's eyes blazed death, and for a moment Roman thought that death would be his.   
  
"Brady, get your shit together. I'm going to break for the dunes, draw their fire. As soon as I have their attention, you get her to the jet. Don't worry about the pre-flight, it should be ready for take-off. Don't waste any time- get her the hell out of her. And Roman," he said, looking down at the man, forcing himself to use his given name, "know that eventually, Stefano will come for her again." With that, John prepared to dash from the protection of the shack.   
  
"No! Wait, dammit. I can't fly that plane. What in the hell are you talking about?" Roman shouted at him, everything happening too quickly.   
  
"What do you mean you can't fly? Of course you can, what the hell kind of agent are you?" He grabbed Roman by the shirt, pressed him back against the wall. Damn! He had forgotten. He hadn't gotten his pilot's licence until after he had returned to Marlena, the training made ridiculously easy by the fact that he had been flying Dimera's jets since he was a teenager. Shit!   
  
"Fucking amateur," he muttered at Roman, one more thing to hate him for. He couldn't go back to Salem, couldn't face the family, the kids. He glanced at her, shook his head once, even as he admitted to himself that he had no choice.   
  
"When I start to fire, you two go. I'll be right behind." He shoved Roman toward the plane then hugged the corner of the shed and opened-up on the two remaining guards. He emptied his clip, hitting nothing, but keeping their heads down. He didn't wait to see their response, sprinting after the two figures just clearing the top of the jet's stairs. He slammed a fresh clip into his gun and made his legs move faster.   
  
Roman pulled Marlena into the plane and out of the line of fire, then turned in the doorway to watch. John stumbled as he ran, his free hand pressed hard against damaged ribs. The remaining guards rose from cover, their pistols raining bullets. John wasn't going to make it and Roman could offer nothing in the way of cover fire, his pistol laying in the sand where it had fallen when John had knocked him off his feet.   
  
John hit the first step, pitching forward to fall hard against the metal grate. The gun jarred loose from his hand, landing at Roman's feet. He grabbed the weapon, sending a wild fusillade of shots in the direction of the guards who once more ducked for cover. Reaching quickly down, Roman dragged the now struggling body into the safety of the cabin. Bullets clanged against the skin of the plane sending slivers of hot metal flying. Frantically, Roman tried to crank the door shut as John staggered to his feet and disappeared in the direction of the cockpit. As the door finally closed, Roman heard the roar of cold-started engines. The plane surged forward, lurching as it tore its way into the sky. With a tired sigh of relief, Roman Brady sank to the floor and smiled at his wife.   
  
Chapter 18   
  
"Marlena? Doc? Are you okay?" Roman asked, crawling to where she lay curled on the floor next to the now sealed hatch.   
  
"Roman? Is it really you?" She looked at him as if he were a ghost, her fingers rising to brush gingerly across his cheek, the touch tentative and uncertain.   
  
"Long time, no see," he said with a small smile.   
  
Her tears competed with her laughter as she pulled him to her in a tight hug. "I am so sorry. I didn't know," she whispered down at his bowed head.   
  
The last of his reserves crumbled and he sagged in her arms, unable to stop the sobs. This was what he had lived for. It was the only thing he had lived for in fourteen long years. "It's okay, Doc. It will all be okay now. I'm home."   
  
He would have been content to lay in her arms forever. "You haven't changed. Not in all these years. How is that possible?" he said, his hands skimming the smooth curve of her neck.   
  
Blood, sticky and warm on the tips of his fingers. Marlena pulled away, grabbing his hands in her own. "You're hurt, Roman. Oh Roman, no."   
  
The professional in her took over, searching for some sign of the injury. "Just lie still, I need to see how bad it is. Roman, were you shot? Did you feel the impact?"   
  
Confused, he sat up, tried to figure out what she was talking about. "Doc, I feel fine. I..." Dark crimson stained the carpet by the door, the blood still sticky. John. John had gone down on the stairs...   
  
Trying not to let his panic show, Roman flashed a quick grin in her direction. They needed John alive. They needed a pilot. "I'm fine, Doc. Just stay here, I need to check on something."   
  
He saw the realization in her eyes, the fear that quickly followed it. Roman hated that she still might care.   
  
"No, Roman. I'll go. He might... he won't hurt me, Roman."   
  
Marlena was on her feet before he could stop her, her fingers brushing absently against his shoulder as she ran to the cockpit. He watched her leave him, the jealousy spreading like a cancer. If they didn't need a pilot... Roman's hand tightened around the butt of John's gun.   
  
John leaned back in the big pilot's chair, eyes closed against the bright sun that dazzled his eyes. Hearing footsteps, he reached for his gun, only to discover it had been lost in the conflict. He allowed himself to sink back against the seat as Marlena burst through the open passage. She was afraid. She was always afraid around him now. He wondered what she was afraid of this time.   
  
She pulled up as she saw him staring at her with his empty eyes, a chill running down her spine. "Are you okay?" she asked stiffly.   
  
He couldn't help the snort of laughter. 'Was he okay?' Every time he looked at her, he felt another piece of himself die. It would be so much easier if she would just use a gun. Too bad he couldn't tell her that. "I'm lovely, though I could seriously use a beer. There's a fridge just behind the bulkhead. Stefano keeps it stocked with Redhook, a personal favorite of mine. Why don't you make yourself useful?" He continued to stare through her, praying she would go away. Being near her was a personal agony, easily overshadowing the fire that burned in his gut. His prayer was answered as she turned away, tears in her eyes. Leave it to God to choose this prayer to hear.   
  
Marlena barely noticed as she brushed past Roman, standing just out of sight behind her. He had listened to every word and heard the words unsaid. His eyes narrowed in anger, he stepped forward into the control center of the sleek jet.   
  
"Nice to see you're feeling well enough to be an absolute bastard," he said coldly, hyper-aware of the gun in his hand.   
  
"Fuck you too, Roman. What do you want?"   
  
"I want a pilot who can get us home. There's blood in the passageway and I know it's not mine or Marlena's."   
  
"Might want to clean that up for me. Dimera's going to be pissed enough as it is- a dirty rug just might push him over the edge." John grinned, wishing Roman would drop dead. This time, of course, God chose not to listen.   
  
Roman simply stared down at the man in disgust. He had never seen anyone so cold. Roman briefly wondered if everything he had seen the man go through chained in the cell had driven him insane. "Look, I just need to know if you can get this plane home. That's really all I care about. Can you do it or not?"   
  
"I can get you home all right. I've already got the coordinates set for the automatic pilot. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Oh, and I would appreciate my gun back. See you've got it tucked in your waistband. It was a gift, you see. Has some sentimental value."   
  
Roman thought he would rather stick needles in his eyes than give a weapon to the monster beside him. "Think I'll keep it for a while. I kind of like the look of it."   
  
John stared through him, then shoved the steering column forward, sending the plane into a sharp dive. Quietly he said, "You can give me my gun, or we can become a very small oil slick on a very big ocean. Your call Brady."   
  
With absolutely no doubt that the man meant what he said, Roman handed the stylized weapon over. John hesitated for a long second before reluctantly pulling the plane out of the dive. "Get out of here, and don't ever think of pushing me again. You should know that your very existence serves to piss me off. My preferred method for dealing with you would be to simply end that existence."   
  
Roman backed away from the psychopath controlling the plane and turned to find Marlena sitting dazed on the floor. "Doc, are you okay?"   
  
"I think so, just lost my footing when the plane dropped. What happened?"   
  
"He wanted his gun back and decided to offer me a little incentive to comply. It's okay. If he wanted to use the gun, he would have already. He has set the course for Salem, so I think everything will be okay. Forget about him- we're going home, Doc. Everything is going to be okay now."   
  
The smile she gave him was the same one in his memories, but he couldn't help but notice how her eyes strayed toward the front of the plane.   
  


****************************************

  
  
John watched the bright lights dance from behind closed eyelids, the comforting bulk of his gun resting against his hip. Oblivion called out, and he flirted with its cold embrace. The pain was the only thing he had left to fight with, and the pain was nothing he would miss.   
  
For how long he lay there, he had no idea. A sudden jolt of turbulence caused him to snap his eyes open, but the instruments blurred in his gaze. So tired. Too tired. With a start, he realized he was coming down. If he crashed off the drugs now, he might not wake up until it was too late. He might not wake up at all.   
  
Fumbling in his pocket for the vial of pills, he tried to remember why it was important he stay awake. The bottle slipped from his weakening grasp and he watched stupidly as it rolled away. When he reached down, the agony ripped through him like a knife and it was all he could do to stay conscious.   
  
"Roman? Roman, I need a hand in here." His voice sounded weak in his ears, but he wasn't sure he could call out again. Fortunately, Roman came in just as he was trying to gather the will to make the effort. "Need some pills, but I dropped them. I need to keep my eye on the road, so you get to find them for me."   
  
Roman almost turned on his heel and walked out, but something was clearly wrong with the man in the chair. John's head lolled back, his skin deathly pale. Damn. "Why do you need pills?"   
  
"Narcolepsy. A severe case. Just get the damn pills!" He tried to sound threatening, but knew he had failed.   
  
Roman knelt down, not really caring why John needed the pills. If the pills would help the man land the plane, then he would get the pills. If they killed him in the process, then so much the better. Slapping the vial into John's hand, he couldn't avoid noticing the blood. Too much blood. The black material of the fatigues shone dully in the green light from the instrument panel, evidence enough that the man was bleeding badly. Roman leaned over to check the wound and found the 9 millimeter under his chin.   
  
"Give me the pills and go away," John whispered as he cocked the hammer.   
  
Roman froze, undecided.   
  
"Roman, what's wrong?" Marlena called out.   
  
For a split second, John's finger tightened on the trigger, then she was there, her presence effectively disarming the man in the chair.   
  
"Roman, what's wrong," she repeated, watching uncertainly as John let the pistol fall back to rest against his leg.   
  
"I think you need to check him over. Make sure he's going to be able to land this plane once we get it home." Reluctantly, Roman let her take his place, fading into the background. He doubted she was even aware of his presence as she knelt beside John and gently pulled his hand away from the blood-soaked wound.   
  
"You should have said something," she muttered as she ripped open the black t-shirt, her fingers gently probing the torn flesh of his left side.   
  
John tried not to flinch, but her touch was impossible to ignore. "There was nothing to say," he grunted.   
  
"We have to get him in back. I need to see what kind of damage was done," she called over her shoulder to Roman, her attention focused on the man in the chair.   
  
John shook his head, pushed her feebly away. "Just give me the pills, Doc. Stimulants, painkillers... keep me going. If I crash out, I might not come to. Just keep me on the meds," he said, his voice now a whisper.   
  
Ignoring his protests, she motioned for Roman. "Help me get him up."   
  
Working together, they got the now almost unconscious man to his feet and half-dragged him toward the back of the plane.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Marlena felt sick, staring down at the wounded body beneath her fingers. She had feared the damage done by the bullet, but what she'd found was much worse. Beneath his shirt, stained bandages wrapped his entire chest. Blood crusted his side, the still oozing exit-hole purpled and ugly. The bandages continued down his arms, dotted in spots with old blood. He hadn't been tended to properly since the last time she had seen him, days before. "Roman, see if you can find a first aid kit. There has to be one here somewhere," she said, trying to maintain her professional detachment.   
  
She brushed his dark hair back from his face, her fingers running lightly across the angry cut on his left cheek. The bones shifted beneath her touch, and she drew back with a start. What had Dimera done to him? Gritting her teeth, she began to remove the bandages around his chest.   
  
"Doc?" he cried out softly. "I'm sorry Doc... didn't know. I'm so sorry." His breath came out as a sob, and Marlena could tell he had no conscious awareness. It was impossible to reconcile this broken body with the cold-blooded killer that had stalked the Dimera compound.   
  
"Sh..." she gentled. "It will be all right. Just hang on." As she peeled the strapping from his ribs, he tried to draw himself up, falling on his side and knotting into a ball. She gathered his head into her lap and simply held him, waiting for Roman to get back and help her. She needed to cut the bandages loose, and she would need Roman to hold him steady so that he didn't end up puncturing a lung.   
  
"Don't hurt her Stefano. Please, God, I'll do anything you want. I beg you..." His lean body shook as he called out from his delirium, his voice a dry croak.   
  
Angry now, she dashed at the tears that stung her eyes and gently rubbed his shoulders, willing him to relax. Needle tracks dotted the pale skin, her fingers skimming across the raised marks. She wondered if the drugs had left any trace of the man she had known. " Easy, honey, I'm here," she whispered in his ear. "Stefano didn't hurt me. You just have to hold on a little longer. I know you can hold on for me."   
  


****************************************

  
  
Marlena sat back, completely exhausted. John lay peacefully now, a heavy blanket pulled to his chin, covering the fresh bandages that held his chest together. The gunshot wound was merely one more wound on a body that had been pushed to its limit and beyond. The bullet had cut in and out, low on his left side. Luckily, it hadn't been a hollow point, hadn't mushroomed or fragmented. She was fairly certain it had missed the kidney, though there was no way to tell for certain at the moment. The bleeding was stopped, it would have to be enough for now. She started, jarred from her thoughts, as 'Roman's' hand came to rest on her shoulder.   
  
"Doc, come on. You need to lie down, take it easy. You've had a lot to take in and I know you're worried about him."   
  
The bitterness was there, barely disguised. She couldn't blame him for his anger, but right now, she just couldn't deal with it. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know this hurts you, but I can't help it. Roman, I thought he was you for so long. I believed it because I wanted to, I needed you so badly.   
  
"Do you know what Stefano told me? He said that he became Roman Brady because I wanted him to. I made him believe it. I made him believe he was a husband, a father, a son. Now that's all gone and he's lying there hurt. Maybe I should hate him, but right now, I just can't."   
  
"Doc, don't turn him into some martyr," Roman said, his voice harsher than he intended. "I've seen this man in action. He is sick! Something is missing inside of him. You didn't do that to him. I don't know what did, but he worked for Stefano long before you ever met him. We should both just be grateful he didn't revert to type with you or the kids. Marlena, killing is nothing to him- he's dangerous. I'm willing to let him let him leave, let him go back to Stefano. He saved you and I owe him more than my own life. But that doesn't mean I trust him. It doesn't mean you should trust him. You can't save some people, Marlena. You'll only get hurt if you try."   
  
She managed a faint smile and changed the subject. "Roman, you better radio in to Salem. Let them know we're coming. The kids... what is this going to do to the kids?"   
  
"Their father, their _real_ father, is coming home," he said. "I don't see the problem, Marlena!"   
  
"Roman, he raised them. You need to understand that," she said softly, reaching out to take his hand. "I don't want you to tell anyone what he is. Not yet. Tell them you are coming home. Tell them 'John' didn't know who he was, that he thought he was you. That's truth enough for now."   
  
Roman jerked away from her, his anger bubbling over. How could she protect this man who had stolen so much from him? "How exactly are you planning to keep what he is a secret? He's dangerous, Marlena! He's not a naughty child and you aren't going to be able to just bat your eyes at him and make him behave! He'll end up hurting somebody- I just hope that somebody isn't you!" With that, he stormed away toward the cockpit.   
  


****************************************

  
  
John came to slowly, reaching for the controls of the aircraft. His fingers brushed against skin, smooth as silk, and Marlena's face came slowly into focus. "Doc, what...?" The drugs brought back reality and he regretfully dropped his arm. Reality was highly overrated. "What happened?"   
  
"You passed out," she replied as she fussed with the bandages on his side and avoided meeting his eyes. "You should have told me what they did to you, how badly you were hurt. We need to get you to a hospital as soon as we land. R... Roman radioed ahead. Bo and Abe are going to meet us at the airport with an ambulance. It's going to be okay."   
  
Her hair fell in front of her face, a golden shield that blocked his view. He reached out, trailed his fingers through the silken mass, and tucked it behind her ear. Hazel eyes locked on his and it was all he could do to force breath into his lungs. "Thank you," he whispered.   
  
"Any time," she whispered back.   
  
"The drugs worked- is he going to be able to fly?" Roman's voice cut in.   
  
Sensing a threat, John reached for his holster, resting his hand on the butt of his gun. She pulled away from him and he tightened his grip on the weapon, his new anchor to reality. "Don't worry, I'll get you on the ground in one piece."   
  
"Go easy," Marlena warned. "We had to give you some of those pills to bring you to- you've been out cold the whole trip. You shouldn't even be conscious, but the airport is coming up, and we have to land. Just hold on a little longer and we'll get you some help."   
  
"I don't need help, Marlena," he replied, trying to sit up. The pain streaked through his side despite the drugs, and he gave it up as a bad idea. Rolling to his side, he gathered his legs beneath him and tried not to notice Marlena's arm as it wrapped around his waist. Struggling to get to his feet, he let her take most of his weight. Swaying unsteadily, he pulled her close and found himself staring into the angry face of Roman Brady. His throat dry, he pushed himself away from her and lurched toward the cockpit.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Bo leaned against the metal door of the ambulance, anxiously scanning the skies. "What's the word from the tower," he asked Abe, who sat bent over the ambulance's mike.   
  
"The tower just confirmed them for final approach, Bo. They should be down any minute."   
  
"Man, I just can't believe that Roman... that Roman's really been Dimera's prisoner for all of these years. I can't believe it wasn't my brother who has been here. Hell, he's the one... This is way too weird!" Bo trailed off, shaking his head.   
  
"I know what you mean Bo, but have a little faith. The man who left here to go hunt Stefano is a good man, a man I'm proud to call a friend. And your brother, Roman, he's a good man too. Everything will work out, we just have to have some faith and give the whole thing a little time."   
  
In silence, the two men watched as the sleek jet screamed toward the runway, coming in far too fast for safety. Skipping roughly across the tarmac, smoke billowed as the brakes ground and the tires skittered for traction. Still rolling, the plane skewed around sharply as the runway ran out. In a cloud of dust, the aircraft finally came to a halt.   
  
The ambulance carrying Bo and Abe screeched to a halt beside the plane before the dust had time to settle. Leaping out, Bo caught sight of his brother standing in the open hatchway. Hardly believing his eyes, he hesitantly approached the descending stairs. "Roman- is it really you?"   
  
"Bo, God it is good to see you little brother! Come on up, I think I'm going to need some help."   
  
"What is it? Is it Marlena? Is she okay?" Bo asked, sprinting up the stairs.   
  
"She's fine. As soon as the plane stopped, she went up front- to him," Roman replied, his voice sounding strangely bitter to Bo's ears.   
  
"It's really you, huh?" Hesitantly, Bo put a hand to Roman's shoulder, then pulled him into a tight hug. "Man, I'm so sorry for what happened to you. If I had known..."   
  
"It's okay, Bo. Nobody knew," Roman said, slapping his little brother's back. "Nobody knew it wasn't really me."   
  
Almost embarrassed, Bo finally broke away, dashing furtively at his eyes. "So, um, what do you need my help with?"   
  
"It's John, he's pretty banged-up."   
  
"I thought he was piloting? He's hurt? Damn, let's go get him out of here," Bo exclaimed, heading for the front of the plane. In his wake, Roman grimly followed.   
  


****************************************

  
  
"Marlena, dammit! Get off the plane. I told you I'm fine, just get out of here," he was angry and he was tired and he hated arguing with her more than he hated anything else on earth.   
  
"Tower, this is nc178 requesting refueling for immediate take-off. Over," he spat into the mike.   
  
Bo wedged his way into the crowded cockpit, his glance darting from John to Marlena and back again. "What's up? What's the problem you two?"   
  
"Bo, get her the hell off of this plane. I've got to start my pre-flight," John snapped, sparing a glance in Bo's direction.   
  
Bo paled. Beneath the bandages and the swelling, he could hardly recognize the man he had been closest to for the last fourteen years of his life. "Oh God, R... Uh, John. Come on, we've got to get you to the hospital."   
  
Crouching down, Bo got a good grip on the man's shoulders and tried to help lever him out of the chair. He found himself staring down the barrel of a 9 millimeter handgun and slowly let go, taking a small step back.   
  
"Bo, I want you to get these people off the plane right now. Take my word for it, this is best for everyone. Now get them the hell out of here!"   
  
More startled than anything, Bo looked to Marlena for some explanation. She waved him back and moved closer to John.   
  
"Honey, put the gun down," she said, her hand coming to rest on top of his, trembling now under the weight of the gun. Surrendering to his own weariness, the man in the pilot's seat let his arm drop and Bo plucked the gun from his fingers.   
  
Too tired to fight her, he tried one last tactic. Tilting his now drooping head, he peered toward the darkened doorway. "Roman . . . Roman, you know I'm right. It's too dangerous for me to stay. I have to go back to Dimera. He won't hurt me and I can keep him from coming for Marlena. You know I have to go back."   
  
"You are not going back to him!" Marlena said, grabbing him beneath the jaw and forcing him to look at her. "I've seen what he did to you and I won't let you go back."   
  
Taking charge of the situation, she ignored any further argument and ordered Bo to help her. John passed out before they managed to get him off the plane.   
  
Chapter 19   
  
"Marlena, damn him! We do not need to wait around and see how he is. Let him get out of here as fast as he can and good riddance," Roman snapped, grabbing Marlena's arm as she tried to follow the gurney down the hospital corridor.   
  
"Roman, I can't just abandon him! You saw what was done to him- who knows if he really worked for Dimera at all? The drugs, the beatings- Stefano could have made him believe just about anything!"   
  
"Yea, Marlena- I did see it. I saw everything! I saw how he shot those men down at the compound. Hell, John was there when Dimera first captured me. He was in on the plan to take my place from the very start! You're the one who needs to open her eyes!"   
  
She jerked free of his hold, shaking her head. "He got us out of there, Roman. He risked everything to bring us home. To bring both of us home. He wouldn't have done that if he worked for Stefano!"   
  
"Okay, you two. I want you to tell me what's wrong with him," Bo interrupted, his face an angry mask. "What happened to him? Why is he trying to get away from here, from his family? What the hell is going on?"   
  
"I'll tell you what's wrong, little brother," Roman said, his eyes never leaving Marlena's face. "Your 'bro' in there is nothing more than one of Stefano's hired guns. He's a stone cold killer and all of you accepted him as me! That's what wrong!"   
  
"No way. No way. Marlena?" Stunned, Bo took a half step back, looking to Marlena for support.   
  
"I... I don't know, Bo," she finally replied, her eyes downcast. "He did things... I saw him do things I would have never believed possible. But he brought us home. In the end, he defied Dimera. He brought us home. I don't know what to think anymore..."   
  
It was not the denial Bo had hoped for and he looked uncertainly at Roman. "What did John say? Did he say for sure he worked for Dimera?"   
  
"Bo, there is no doubt. I was there when he remembered who he was. He was yelling for Stefano to get him out of the cell and Dimera carried him out of there like he was golden. He locked-up the guy who did the damage to him, and according to Marlena, he let John kill the man. I have no doubts, John was close to Dimera, high-up in his organization. I don't know what he was like when you knew him, but now he is just violent. The man's a killer and I don't want him anywhere near my family!"   
  
"No. No, it's got to be a trick. I would have known. After all these years... Marlena, are you sure it's true?"   
  
"John says it is," she said with a broken laugh. "He said he had always worked for Dimera- his right-hand man. When he was here as Roman, he didn't know who he was, he accepted that he was Roman Brady. But now, now he says he remembers who he really is. He believes it, Bo. He believes he is Dimera's hired gun and he wants to go back to him."   
  
"Oh Damn!" Bo slapped a hand to his forehead, unable to believe this was happening. "I've already called mom and pop, they're on their way down right now. This is going to kill them. And the kids! What's this going to do to Carrie and the twins?"   
  
"Bo, their father is back. They're going to be fine. The man was an imposter and now he's gone. It's all going to be for the best." Roman couldn't figure out why Bo was making such a big deal out of it. John Black was nothing- a liar, an imposter. The sooner he was out of their lives, the better off they would be.   
  
"Yeah, I guess," Bo replied dubiously. "It's just, it's hard not to think of him as family. It's going to be really hard for the kids. For everybody. Roman, he was there for us. You could always count on him, no matter what. This is, it's going to be hard to adjust to."   
  
"Roman!?" The loud cry drew their attention, and Caroline Brady came rushing down the hall toward her eldest son. "I couldn't believe it when Bo told me. Oh, Roman! Is it really you?" She took him into her arms and held on tightly, the tears streaming down her face.   
  
"Ma... it's been so long," he said softly, a deep sadness he hadn't known he felt welling up from inside.   
  
Turning away, Marlena brushed at the tears now falling from her own eyes. This is so unfair... to both of the men. Most especially, to Roman. He deserved her undivided attention, her undivided heart. They should be home, with their children, their family. After all the time apart, he deserved nothing less. But still, there was... the other.   
  
"Son? My son," Sean said, coming up behind Caroline to grasp Roman's shoulder. "We are so glad you are okay."   
  
"Mike?" Bo called, startling them all. "How is he?"   
  
Dr. Mike Horton looked up from the medical chart, approaching the worried family he had known since he was a child. He still wasn't exactly certain what was going on, and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he tried to gather his thoughts.   
  
"Is he going to be okay, Mike?" Sean echoed, the concern in his voice bringing Roman back to the realities of the moment.   
  
"We're still running tests. There was a lot of damage over a pretty long period of time and on top of that, there's the gunshot wound. It's the drugs that have us worried, though. We analyzed the pills he's been taking. Strong stuff. It would have to be to keep him on his feet in the condition he's in. But the tests indicate other substances we haven't been able to identify. It's making it hard to know how to treat him and we don't know if it may result in long term effects."   
  
"Mike," Marlena interrupted. "I don't think Stefano wanted him permanently injured. Whatever he gave him, I don't think the effects will be long term"   
  
"I hope you're right, Marlena, because right now, there isn't much we can do about it."   
  
Still holding tight to her son's arm, Caroline asked, "When can we see him, Mike. I need to be sure he's okay?"   
  
"It's going to be a while. The gunshot wound wasn't bad, it didn't hit anything vital, but there's still a lot of work to do. They have to stabilize his eye-socket, he broke some bones in his face. His arms... they're pretty cut-up. It's going to take a while. Why don't you all go sit down, have some coffee? I'll send a nurse once they have him cleaned up. Don't expect too much. He probably won't regain consciousness for quite some time. He's been through a lot- I just want you to be prepared for it, okay?"   
  
As the Bradys turned reluctantly toward the waiting room, Mike called quietly to Marlena, "Can I see you inside for a minute?"   
  
"Of course, Mike."   
  
Roman watched in silence as she followed Mike down the hall.   
  


****************************************

  
  
"What is it Mike? Is he really okay?" Marlena asked, joining Mike in the trauma unit.   
  
"I haven't gotten the full story of what's going on- though I know that 'Roman' wasn't Roman. But the guy we have in there... Marlena, what did Stefano do to him? We had to put him in restraints as soon as we got him in here. He was delusional, yelling and screaming and he nearly choked one of our nurses who was trying to hold him down. I need to know what's going on. Is it the drugs Dimera gave him? He is really out of control and when he comes to, I need to know what to expect."   
  
"I don't know what to tell you, Mike. It looks like John might have been one of Stefano's operatives- at least that is what he believes. Stefano drugged him- tortured him- into 'remembering', but I'm still not sure what the truth. But Mike, he is dangerous. He isn't the man we all know. You need to be careful with him- especially if he's delusional."   
  
"Have you told the family?" Mike asked.   
  
"Bo knows, but he won't say anything. I want to wait until he's conscious, until he can explain what happened. Mike, I just can't believe the man I knew would have every willingly worked for Dimera! I can't tell the kids the man who raised them was really some hired killer. I need to wait, at least until things become clearer.   
  
"Mike, I can keep him calm, you don't have to worry. I'll stay here until he's lucid, make sure he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else. Please Mike, I'll watch him. Just don't tell anyone what's going on, not until we know more."   
  
"Marlena, you know it's not my job to make announcements about my patient's mental health. I'm just worried about how best to treat him. But you have to know this is going to come out and you'd better be prepared. This isn't going to stay a secret long. Roman's a cop, apteral! He's going to have to tell Abe what he knows. There may even be an arrest warrant out for John. It might be best to get the kids ready for that possibility. I know one thing- I sure wouldn't want them around him the in state he was in when he was brought here. You're going to have to tell them something, and I've found the truth is usually best."   
  
"This is just all so wrong!" she muttered, angry and tired and hating the fact that she couldn't hold back the tears any longer.   
  
Awkwardly, Mike wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Marlena had always been the strong one, the one he could look to when he didn't know how to handle a case, how to tell a family their child was hurt or worse yet, gone. "It's gonna be okay, Marlena. The main thing is that you are back. All of you are home, the rest will work itself out."   
  
"When did you get so grown-up, 'Dr. Horton'?" she asked, forcing a smile and dabbing at her eyes.   
  
"I've had good teachers," Mike replied, stepping back and wiping away the tracks of her tears. "Are you all right?"   
  
"I will be- after I talk to the family."   


****************************************

  
  
Marlena leaned against the wall and tried to catch her breath, give herself some time to make sense of it all. Her entire life had been turned upside down and now she had to try and explain it all to her children. How could she explain it when she couldn't understand it herself?   
  
She turned the corner and found Roman, holding all three children tightly to him. He finally stepped back, his hands going out to gently frame Carrie's face. "I can't believe how much you have grown. Carrie... my God, you're an adult now! Look at you."   
  
Sami looked up from her inspection of the floor and caught sight of her mother. In a flash, she was streaking down the hallway. "Mom, we were so worried!" she said, throwing herself into Marlena's arms. "They won't tell us anything about Daddy. Mom, is he going to be okay?"   
  
Marlena glanced up in time to catch Roman's frown of displeasure. Returning Sami's embrace, she brushed the hair back from the young woman's face and managed a weak smile. "It's going to be okay, kids. He's just a little beat-up and they want to keep him under observation for a while. Look, why don't we all go sit down. I know this has to be confusing to you, but it will all work out. The important thing is we are all here together. We'll face whatever comes as a family."   
  


****************************************

  
  
The whole family clustered around a big dinning table in the almost deserted cafeteria. "I still don't understand, Mom. Are you saying that our Dad, or, the guy who raised us, was really working for Stefano Dimera? That just doesn't make any sense. Dad would never hurt us," Eric stated flatly. "There's no way that's right. We would have known. You have to be wrong."   
  
The children's responses to the news were consistent with each of their characters, Marlena thought to herself. Carrie was quiet, turning inwards to process the information flowing around her. Eric was openly suspicious of both the story being laid out and of Roman himself. He was so like his father- so like John- expressive, confrontational and feeling very much the need to protect his mother and sisters from any outside threat. In many was, though, it was Sami who had Marlena most concerned. She had distanced herself from the entire discussion and Marlena wasn't certain she had really heard her explanation of the complex relationship between the man who had left town as their father and the one who had returned. Though Rom... no John, John loved all of his children, he and Sami shared a special bond. She was her Daddy's little girl and did not appear interested in engaging in a discussion that could challenge that relationship. The situation had to be handled very carefully if there was any hope of this family surviving intact.   
  
"Eric, kids- we don't know exactly what John's relationship to Stefano is. I'm not even sure he really knows. He was drugged, maybe even brainwashed. But there is no doubt that he is not Roman Brady. He didn't know it until Dimera triggered his memories. He thought he was your father, your biological father, for the past fourteen years. That was a mistake on Dimera's part. John was a good father and he has always protected this family. He is the one who brought me and Roman back to you. I know he cares about you, it's just that he's not the man we all thought he was. And the man who is your father, he is back after all of these years. The only thing that kept him going for all of those years as a prisoner was his family. You owe him your respect," Marlena said gently.   
  
"Son, we're so sorry for what happened to you," Sean said, shifting the focus of the table to Roman. "I can't explain why we didn't know it wasn't you. All I can say is that it was so hard when we thought you had died. When you came back, when we thought you had come back, we wanted it to be true so badly. He was different- more brittle, more intense than you ever were. But we wanted it to be true, we thought the time away had hardened you. He never gave us any reason to doubt him. Not once did he give us reason to doubt. But I am sorry, so sorry, that we accepted it so willingly. It was just that we wanted you back so badly. Can you understand that?"   
  
Fighting to control the hurt he was feeling, Roman nodded his head. "It's okay, Pop. There was really no way you could know that I was locked in some damn cell while an imposter watched over my family. I'm just glad he never hurt any of you."   
  
Eric snorted, rolling his eyes. "Dad would never hurt any of us, I don't care what you say. How do we know that this isn't some trick of Dimera's?"   
  
"He's right," a calm voice cut in, and all eyes turned to Carrie, who until this point had remained a mute observer.   
  
"Carrie?" Marlena prompted, when she failed to continue with her thought.   
  
"Grandpa is right. He was different. When he came back, I mean. Sami and Eric were too little when he left. They don't remember. But, when he came back, he was different. Not just his memory. He was... more careful. I remember when he'd pick me up when I was little. It was like I was made of glass, like he'd never held me before and he thought he might break me. Before he came back, he took us all for granted. I mean, like it was just normal- to have a family, to love each other. But when he came back... Even now, sometimes I'd watch him, watching us. It was like we were something very precious, some rare thing that he couldn't believe existed and that might disappear at any time. Grandpa is right. He was different."   
  
The room was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts, until Sami said plaintively, "I want to see Dad. Didn't Mike say we could see him, Mom?"   
  
"Sami, why don't you wait until tomorrow," Roman replied. "Mike said he wouldn't be able to talk until tomorrow at best. Maybe you should just get some rest. Let this all sink in. You can see him in the morning, if you want to."   
  
Irritated at being told what to do by a man who pretended to be her father, Sami became stubborn, as only she could. "I am not leaving here until I see my Dad and I don't have to do anything you say!"   
  
Laying a gentling hand on Roman's forearm to forestall an angry retort, Marlena said sternly, "Samantha, you are welcome to your own interpretation of events, at least until the DNA tests come back. But you will show respect. Now, I think it might be a good idea to wait and give John time to gain strength." Noting the stubborn glint in Sami's eye, a look so like her 'father's' when he had made his mind up about something, Marlena sighed in surrender. "However, if you really want to look in on him, Mike did say it would be okay. But we really need to let him rest, so try and be as quiet as you can. Okay? I'm going to stay here tonight, just to make sure he's all right and I'll call you if anything at all happens."   
  
"Thanks, mom. I'll be really quiet. I just want to see that he's okay," Sami replied with a grateful smile.   
  


****************************************

  
As Sami hesitantly pushed open the door to the private room, Marlena took Roman's hand and pulled him back. "Why don't we give them a minute alone, Roman."   
  
He grimaced, managing to hold his tongue until the door closed behind the three children. When he turned to her, he was angry. "They should not be in there! That man is violent and I don't want him near my kids. He's done enough harm already, Marlena. I won't let him cause more."   
  
"Roman, I know you're mad, but you have to see this from the children's point of view. He is the only father they have known for the past 14 years. We need to be able to work with him to help the children accept what has happened. If you attack him, it's just going to confuse the kids, drive them away from you. We have to give them some time to understand things."   
  
"Marlena, the only way for us to get on with our life together is to get him out of it. As soon as he is out of this hospital, he's either getting out of town or he's going to jail. He will not be a part of our lives and he will not be a part of our children's lives. The issue is not open for discussion!" Not waiting to hear her reply, Roman turned on his heel and stormed away.   
  
With a muttered sigh, she let him go. Maybe time alone was what he needed. At the moment, the children needed her more. Pushing her way silently into the room, she saw Eric and Carrie standing together at the foot of the bed. Staring down in confusion, they were clearly unsure how to react to the battered figure laying in the bed. Marlena could sympathisize, confusion the most apt label she could put on her own feelings. Sami, however, appeared to be operating under no such dilemmas.   
  
Standing beside the bed, Samantha Brady had John's good hand clutched firmly in her grasp. "Daddy? It's me, Sami. Please, Daddy. Can you hear me?" she whispered, the tears running freely down her cheeks.   
  
John lay motionless, only the gentle rise and fall of his chest indicating that he was still alive. Putting her arms around Eric and Carrie, Marlena pulled them close. "Come on kids. We need to let him rest."   
  
Sami showed no inclination to move and Marlena joined her at the side of the bed. Flashing her mother a silent look of thanks, Sami wrapped her arm around Marlena's waist and rested her head on her shoulder. "I thought I felt him squeeze my hand, mom."   
  
Reaching down, Marlena tucked the stiff white sheet up beneath his chin, her fingers checking his pulse as she did so. Weak but steady- what he needed now was sleep. "He will get better, Sami. We just need to give him some time to heal. We'll come back tomorrow when he's awake. Okay?"   
  
Unable to speak, Sami simply nodded and allowed her mother to lead her from the room.   
  
Chapter 20   
  
Marlena eased down into the chair beside John's bed. Sean and Caroline had taken the children home with them, and for the first time since John had appeared at her door she wasn't running, getting shot at, patching wounds or trying to explain things that made no sense. The ghost of a smile crossed her lips and she recognized herself slipping into 'shrink mode', as Roman- no, as John- had always called it. Lord! No wonder she was so confused.   
  
Too much history, too many memories. The man in the bed was the man she had been married to for the past decade and a half. He was the one she had planned to grow old with. Roman, the real Roman, had been a part of her life for less than 2 years. They had been great years, but they had been so long ago.   
  
Ruefully, she reached out and took his hand in her own. "I know you can hear me, John. I saw the way your skin flushed when I checked your pulse. I would have thought Dimera's soldier a much better liar than that."   
  
Slowly, his eye cracked open. "First time you've called me John," he said, his voice a whisper.   
  
"No it's not," she replied, tightening her grip on his hand as he tried to pull away. "When I first met you, you told me your name was John. Remember? Apparently, it was one of the few times you weren't lying to me."   
  
"Did you drag me off the plane just so you could yell at me?"   
  
"Are you suggesting I don't have the right?" She quirked a brow and waited for him to deny it.   
  
"No- shit, you have every right. God! You know how much I hate arguing with you. Marlena, you should have left me on the plane. I'd be halfway home to Stefano by now. You wouldn't even have to be looking at my damn face, much less wasting your time telling me what an asshole I am. Believe me, I already know."   
  
"If you had tried to fly that plane, you would have died! You came close enough as it was. Besides, I'm more than happy to spare the time to explain the ways in which you are an asshole."   
  
His dry chuckle tore at his chest, but he couldn't help a smile. "You're the toughest person I've ever known and we both know things would be better if you had let me leave."   
  
"You aren't going back to him," Marlena said firmly. "You are going to stay here and you are going to make this right. You can start by figuring out what to tell the children."   
  
Tiredly, he turned his head, forced himself to meet her eyes. "I can't make this right, Marlena. You don't know me. You don't _want_ to know me. The sooner I'm gone, the better off you will be."   
  
It was her turn to pull away and he wasn't strong enough to stop her. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she tried to pretend he couldn't hurt her. "You helped us escape from the compound. That had to mean something."   
  
His eyelid drooped closed, the effort of being awake too much for him to maintain. She had to leave. She had to let him go. She had no idea... "Just a chance to piss Stefano off, that's all it was. Fucker left me here for fourteen damn years, he deserved a little payback. It's time for me to go home, rub his face in it a little. Time for you to go home too."   
  
He let himself fade away, unwilling to see how his words would hurt her. He never felt it as her fingers again curled around his own.   
  
"You really are a terrible liar," she whispered. Leaning back in her chair, she watched him sleep and wondered what to tell their children.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Peering through the small window in the hospital door, Roman watched as his wife held the hand of the man who had stolen his life. Damn it, he would not let him get away with this. Roman had just gotten off of the phone with Jameson, his controller from his days with the ISA and now an assistant director at the agency. While he had been very interested to find out that John Black had surfaced, he had also informed Roman that there were no warrants out for the man. They had a dossier on Black going back to his teens, but he had always been a bit too good for them to get anything that would hold up in court.   
  
Roman already knew that nothing that had happened on the island would put John away. In the first place, it was outside of U.S. jurisdiction. In the second place, Roman thought grimly, Marlena wouldn't testify to anything that would see him locked up. Concealing his frustration, Roman pushed the door open and went to join his wife.   
  
"Hey," he called to her quietly.   
  
Almost guiltily, Marlena released John's hand and turned to smile up at him. "Hey yourself. Are you okay?"   
  
Moving to her side, he laid a hand on her shoulder and looked down at the body of the man in the bed. "Yea, I'm fine. Sorry I was so abrupt with you. This is all just a little hard for me to take. I just, I missed you so much for so many years. This isn't how I saw my homecoming."   
  
"I know," she said sadly. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to hurt you."   
  
"Marlena, I love you so much. I missed you and I just want this to be done with. I want us to be together again." Looking down at her face, he almost missed the glint of light from John's nearly closed eye. Masking his recognition, he pulled Marlena up into a quick hug. "Look, you must be exhausted. He's not going anywhere. I'll sit with him. Why don't you try and get some rest? Mike said we can use the empty room next door."   
  
Marlena looked uncertain, but Roman placed a hand beneath her elbow and edged her toward the door. "Come on. Sleep will do you good. Tomorrow looks to be a long day and you've been through a lot."   
  
Laughing at the understatement, she allowed Roman to lead her out of the room.   
  


****************************************

  
  
Marlena safely tucked away in the bed Mike had made available, Roman eased back into John's room. "I know you're awake, you bastard. Stop pretending."   
  
A low chuckle came from the unmoving figure in the bed. "I thought you caught that," John said weakly. "I'm glad you came back."   
  
"I didn't do it as a favor to you. I just don't want you anywhere near Marlena, or anyone else in my family for that matter."   
  
"At least we're in agreement. While we're on the topic, there is something I need you to do," John said.   
  
"Unless it's a request for assisted suicide, I wouldn't count on any help from me- but I admire the gall it took to ask," Roman replied.   
  
"Oh, I think you'll be glad to help me, Roman. I need to get back to Dimera and I can't do it alone."   
  
Roman just stared at him blankly for a moment. "Call a cab."   
  
"Don't be stupider than usual. You want me gone more than I want to go. Drop the act, Brady."   
  
"I don't want you gone, John. I want you dead," Roman hissed, glad of the chance to say what he felt.   
  
John merely chuckled, deliberately pushing the man's buttons. He was going to make Roman help him or kill him, and at the moment, he wasn't sure which it would be. "Do you really want me here, Roman? You know I still dream about her, don't you? I dream about how we used to make love and I think maybe, just maybe, I can have that again. Roman, if I stay, I'll destroy her. You're not doing me any favors by helping me leave- you're doing her a favor."   
  
Roman stared down at the pale figure in the bed, his hands balling into tight fists. This man had already stolen so much of his life, he would not allow him to take any more. Roman didn't want John Black to ever so much as see Marlena again. "Tell me what I need to do."   
  


****************************************

  
  
At 11:45 the night shift desk-nurse started her rounds. As she disappeared up the hallway, the door to John's private room slowly cracked open. Seconds later, the bundled form of John Black was wheeled toward the service elevator. The doors closed and he looked up at Roman's grim face. "You contacted the number I gave you? The men are waiting in the parking structure?"   
  
"Yea, John. I called D-Bar Enterprises and gave them the codewords. They said they'd have a man waiting," Roman replied shortly, wanting only to get this over with.   
  
The elevator lurched as they came to a stop, John muffling a harsh grunt of pain.   
  
"You think that hurt, you try coming back to Salem, John. I don't ever want to see you in this town again," Roman snarled as he pushed the wheelchair down the loading dock.   
  
"The feelings mutual," John muttered, concentrating on staying conscious.   
  
As they reached the curb, a black Mercedes glided to a halt beside them, a silver haired man in an impeccably tailored suit emerging from the back. "John Black?" he asked, looking expectantly at the man in the chair. "Mr. Dimera is very eager to see you."   
  
"I'll bet," John replied, as two goons appeared at his sides, lifting him from the chair. He twisted in their grip and felt stitches start to give. Planting his feet, he managed a quick look back at Roman. "You better take care of her," he stated, his words a warning.   
  
"Sir, you need to get in the car, we have to meet the jet in less than 20 minutes."   
  
With a silent nod of acceptance, John Black disappeared into the night.   
  


****************************************

  
  
High in the mountains of Europe, a servant walked noiselessly through granite halls. Rapping lightly on the double doors to the library, he awaited permission to enter. Dreading delivering the news to his master, he half hoped that his knock would go unacknowledged.   
  
"Come," a gruff voice ordered.   
  
The library soared a full 3 stories, dominated on one end by a marble fireplace surrounded by stained-glass windows depicting the family history. Hesitantly, the servant approached the lord of the manor, lounging at ease behind a solid oak desk. The man's looks belied his age. At 48, his massive body was still toned and firm. His 6'3 frame easily carrying in excess of 220 pounds, the man was built like a bear. The analogy was enhanced by the long black hair he wore pulled back, knotted with a leather band. He was dressed casually, but expensively. Fine wool trousers, in the black he always tended to favor, encased long legs. Dark chest hair, shot through with grey, peeked from the neck of his silk shirt. On the middle finger of his right hand, the only piece of jewelry he wore glinted in the early morning light. The family crest, a gryphon rampant on a field of emerald green, was depicted in heavy gold, a sign of his sovereignty.   
  
"Well, Ivan? What is it? You know I hate to be disturbed when I'm working," the man snapped irritably.   
  
"Sir, I'm sorry sir. A message just came in that I thought you would want to be made aware of immediately. One of our contacts in the ISA. It seems that John Black has finally resurfaced. Apparently he wasn't dead, as we had initially surmised. He's back and still a member of the Dimera cartel."   
  
"Damn it!" the man behind the desk swore. He slammed a hand against the dark wood, the sound ringing out like a rifle shot. "I felt that he was still alive. He wouldn't die that easily- I should know. Get in touch with our contact. I want a sample of his DNA sent here immediately. Ivan, I want that sample yesterday. Do you understand me?"   
  
"Yes, sir. I will see to it." Relieved at being able to escape the man's presence, Ivan scurried quickly to the door.   
  
As the doors swung shut behind the frightened servant, Mikovitch Alamain leaned back in his chair. He looked up at the portrait of his father and smiled. "It's time we find out for certain if you are still out there, little brother."   


**The End? The Beginning? Make of it what you will.**

  



End file.
